


Then Us - Pt 1

by skyler_press



Series: Then Us [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Creepy Uncle Peter Hale, Exhibitionism, Extremely Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, Knotting, M/M, Magic Stiles, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Possessive Derek, Protective Derek, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scent Marking, Underage Sex, Xenophilia, mentions of mpreg, situational consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3402146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyler_press/pseuds/skyler_press
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a primal age, a pack of werewolves threatens Chief Stilinski's tribe. Desperate for help, he calls upon an old ally pack, the Hales. The Alpha, Derek Hale, is willing to help protect the Stilinski tribe in exchange for integrating pack and tribe. Chief Stilinski concedes, but at a high cost - his only son and heir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then Us - Pt 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have to start out by saying READ THE WARNINGS. If you find any of the tags or warnings tigger-worthy, this fic is not for you. I've marked this fic with the Ao3 warning "Rape/Non-Con" due to the extremely dubious/situational consent. It can be read as non-con, so please take that into account prior to reading. Also, the xeno tag may be a light substitute for beastality - you've been warned.
> 
> This fic is for the STEREK BIG BANG, and I have to thank the administrators/moderators for all their time and effort on this. We really enjoy it (reading, writing, and art)! 
> 
> The story itself, while complete in its own right, will have a sequel. There is much more to happen in this AU than described below. So, be sure to check back occasionally for Part 2! :D Please note this isn't a happy story ... yet.
> 
> I'd like to thank the lovely, talented and magnificent [seleenee/foolishsel](http://seleenee.deviantart.com/gallery/) for the fabulous artwork accompanying this story. Her patience with me through this whole thing has been more than appreciated. She's a star!
> 
> Last, but certainly not least, I have to thank [damnitgreenberg](http://archiveofourown.org/users/damnitgreenberg/pseuds/damnitgreenberg) for beta'ing this story. She not only has been editor and cheerleader, she's been a true friend, mentor, and inspiration. Without her, the story wouldn't be half of what it turned out to be. So, I'd like to say thank you for rescuing me, and the story, when we needed it most. If I can ever return the favour, just let me know.
> 
> All errors/mistakes are my own.
> 
> That being said, enjoy!

“Are we sure there’s no other option?” Whittemore implored, pacing back and forth in the small confines of the tent. His agitation had their Chief looking up from where he was resting his head in his hand, elbow on his chair arm. His staff, a symbol of his position, was balanced precariously using his other hand, listing slightly from its upright position. He had been staring unfocused at the table in front of him; maps, weapons, and writing tools were strewn all over it.

Surely there was _something_ they could do.

“You know I wouldn’t call on them if there was,” the Chief sighed, rubbing his forehead. He was tired. They had been in this tent for the last two days trying to figure out a way to best save their people from the most serious threat their tribe had received since the Chief began his reign.

Two days prior, Chief Stilinski had received a message from a pack of werewolves from the north; surrender their land, or die. They were only given a fortnight to respond. Since receiving the message, the Chief and his council, Whittemore his lead negotiator, Argent his top warrior and military strategist, and his son Stiles, next in line to be chief of the tribe, had all been strategizing what to do against such a threat. They kept coming back to the same answer. The best defense against a pack of werewolves, was, well, a pack of werewolves. And the Stilinski tribe had an unusual ally.

Many decades ago, the tribe of humans tending to the land in Beacon Valley, north of the mountain range known as Beacon Hills, made a peace treaty with the pack of werewolves that lived in the mountains. The treaty outlined that the parties would be respectful of each other’s borders, and would not hunt, farm or irrigate into the other’s territory. The two groups would leave the other in peace. However, if called upon, they would respond to each other in aid.

As the years passed, the Chief of the Stilinski tribe and the Alpha of the Hale pack would meet every few years to keep the treaty current and valid. Stiles remembered attending one or two of these visits in the past, but he’d been extremely young at the time. No more than six at most.

For the most part, though, the two groups never saw each other. Most wouldn’t even know the other group existed just outside their border if they hadn’t been taught of the treaty at an early age.

All knowledge that the tribe had of werewolves when the treaty was originally struck eventually faded, turning truth into story, and story into myth. In order to deter their youth from crossing the border, and possibly, though unintentionally, breaking the treaty, human parents would tell horror stories of the werewolves. They would make the wolves out to be nothing more than mean, savage barbarians who would hunt and kill human children for game. The wolves were described as monsters of the night with glowing eyes, fangs and claws sharper and stronger than any other animal known to man. They could fully shift into wolf form, allowing them to blend in with the forest so well that they would practically become invisible. Their prey wouldn’t know they were being hunted until it was too late. They were larger and more muscular than humans, with distorted features that scared even their own children.

When the tribal children became teenagers, the stories took a more mature tone as well, with more of a sexual nature. They painted the wolves as sexually crazed animals who would tear their lovers apart in their heat. No human could survive being taken by a werewolf.

Well, those were the stories, anyway.

Stiles, son of the current Chief, had been raised to believe a little differently. While he had heard all the stories as a child, just like any of the other children of the tribe, his parents had also taught him that the Hales were their allies, that they were loyal and noble creatures who could be trusted. It was drilled into Stiles from a young age to respect the werewolves, but to know the truth: they were simply supernatural creatures, who, beneath it all, were just like humans.

So when word of the pack of werewolves attacking from the north reached their little community, advising that their tribe was next, Chief Stilinski was confident enough to call upon their forgotten allies, the Hales.

“Calling on the Hales will do nothing more than provide further panic to the community. They need something reassuring at a time like this, not something more to fear,” Whittemore countered. He had been going on and off for the past two days on how the wolves couldn’t be trusted, how their help would be a detriment to the tribe, how it would be a mistake.

“We won’t have a community to reassure if we don’t call on the Hales. We’re farmers, with only a few hunters and warriors. We wouldn’t stand a chance against an enemy pack. Our people would be slaughtered,” the Chief responded heatedly. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this exact same argument over the last two days. “If you have a better idea of how to protect our people, please, I’m all ears.”

“There are many options. Call upon other tribes, tribes with more hunters.”

“Our only other allied tribes are the Gentries, Normans, and Berries. The Gentries and Berries have been decimated by this threatening pack, and the Normans are overcome with an illness. We can’t ask them for aid unless we want to risk exposing our people to their illness as well.”

“We could move the tribe further south in search of new land,” Whittemore said, pointing to valleys farther south on the map laid out before the group.

“What, and run when any other pack threatens us? We’ll always be on the move,” Stiles replied from his seat off to the side of the tent, equally as frustrated as his father. Why did they have this guy on council again? When Stiles became chief, assigning a new negotiator would be the first thing he did.

Whittemore sneered at Stiles, his distain of the chief-in-training’s opinion clear.

“Stiles is right,” Argent piped in. “We need to take a stand. If we don’t, we’ll be seen as a weak tribe, an easy target for those with an itch to expand their land claim.”

“This is our land,” the Chief said, thumping his staff against the ground. “We will defend it. If we need a little help, then so be it.”

“Fight fire with fire,” Stiles chimed in.

“You’re all fools,” Whittemore snapped, throwing up his hands before turning and making his way out of the tent.

The Chief sighed. He always preferred when the council could come to a unanimous decision. With Whittemore on council, it seemed to happen less and less frequently.

“Argent, send a messenger to the Hale pack,” the Chief ordered. Despite Whittemore’s concerns, he knew the Hales were their only lifeline. “Tell them we’re calling on our ally for aid, and that we need them as soon as possible.”

 

When four days passed without any word from the Hale Pack, Chief Stilinski was starting to lose hope their call would be answered. As a result, they doubled their efforts in preparation to fight on their own. They were planning relentlessly, working through all hours – day and night. They had little to show for it, though. Despite their people’s passion and loyalty, they were still only farmers. There were few with any talent in strategizing battle plans.

In the late afternoon of the fifth day, however, word came. The Alpha of the Hale Pack was on his way. He would be arriving later into the evening.

In preparation, the Chief ordered a feast for that night to welcome the Alpha, and any other guests he may have with him. Temporary sleeping quarters were to be constructed, beds made, and fruit and wine at the ready. They wanted to present a respectable welcome to their ally.

As the sun started to fade to evening light, the Chief ordered everyone out of his receiving tent except for Stiles, advising the rest of his council not to go far. The Hales would be arriving shortly. He first wanted to ensure his next-in-line was prepared for negotiations, as this would be the first time Stiles took part in such important matters.

“I know the last several days have been a lot to take in, but I need to know you’re ready,” the Chief began once he and his son were alone.

“Dad,” Stiles interjected, fighting back an eye roll. When was his dad going to trust that Stiles was ready? His dad had trained him ceaselessly all throughout his childhood. He had never given his dad any reason to think he wouldn’t do the right thing.

“No, just let me get this out,” the Chief responded, walking up to put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “While the Hales have been allies for some time now, we’ve never had to call upon them for help before. I’m not sure whether they’ll be willing to help, so I need to know you’re ready to do the right thing in any situation.”

“I’m ready, Dad,” Stiles said gently, reassuringly. He knew his father worried about him, and their people, but he had taught Stiles well. Stiles was ready. There was nothing more to teach. “We’ll be fine.”

“You remember who the Alpha is?”

Stiles smiled. This was the easy part.

“Derek Hale, he’s been Alpha for three years. Before him, it was his mother, Talia Hale, who had been Alpha for twenty-three years.”

“Good,” the Chief said, nodding. “His family and second in command?”

“He only has one remaining family member alive, Peter Hale, his uncle. He’s strictly an advisor. Alpha Hale’s second in command is Boyd, then Reyes.”

“His Emissary?”

“Deaton, a druid.”

“That’s right. Never forget werewolves not only have super strength and speed, but superior senses as well. They can smell our emotion, they can hear our lies, they can see details that we can’t. Don’t underestimate them, but don’t fear them either. When you take away their supernatural elements, they’re just like us.”

Stiles nodded. He’d heard it all a million times over, but he suspected his dad was saying it more out of comfort now than anything.

“Say it,” the Chief prompted.

Stiles didn’t bother trying to hide the eye roll on that one. As if he could ever forget.

“I need to hear it. I need to know you know it,” the Chief said, a pleading in his eyes that Stiles could never deny. With a sigh that made Stiles sound more put-upon than he actually was, he indulged his father.

“The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.”

The Chief nodded, clapping his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, a proud smile pulling at his lips.

“We’ll be fine, Dad,” Stiles repeated. He wanted his father to know he had his support, and believed that they were doing the right thing. Stiles knew deep in his gut that his dad had made the right decision to call upon the Hales. If they were anything like his father had been teaching him, they’d be loyal. “They’ll help, you’ll see.”

“You get your optimism from your mother.” The Chief smiled, ruffling Stiles’ hair affectionately before pushing him gently away. “Call in the rest of the council. The Hales should be here shortly.”

They didn’t have to wait long before their guests were announced. The council, who had been waiting inside the receiving tent as well, quickly took their place to the left of their Chief. Stiles remained on the right. The Chief sat stoically in his chair, staff held rigidly at his side. Even though they were a small tribe, they wanted to appear as a strong, solid unit.

Three men entered as the curtains of the receiving tent were pulled aside. Two were clearly wolves, however the other had a smaller, slighter build; human to Stiles’ eyes. If Stiles were to bet, that must be the Emissary, Deaton. 

The stories of the wolves did them justice. They were large, their muscular bulk beyond most of the male warriors of the tribe. Their height was comparative, only maybe a touch taller than Stiles himself. It was the air of their presence, however, that had Stiles straightening his shoulders and subconsciously rolling to the balls of his feet, purely a defensive move. Their presence demanded respect, and if it wasn’t freely given, it looked like it would be taken.

The Alpha led the other two. He was by far the largest of the three. His face expressed a controlled aggression mixed with a hint of annoyance, but there was a calmness about him, something measured and strong that left Stiles wanting to do nothing more than dip his head in respect.

They looked better groomed than Stiles was expecting. Maybe he had given too much credit to the savage part of the childhood stories, because they looked to be just as well kept as the human tribe. The Alpha’s dark hair was kept short, his beard being neatly trimmed. Stiles found himself admiring the masculine features. It was the Alpha’s eyes, though, glowing hot red that had Stiles’ heartbeat rising ever so slightly. He found them unnerving, a warning of the danger that laid within.

The second werewolf was just as well groomed, only with lighter brown hair. He too was bulky, and had a strong angular jawline that matched the Alpha’s. Perhaps this was the Alpha’s last living relative, the uncle. This wolf’s eyes were different, glowing an intense blue which had Stiles wondering what the different colors signified.

As they approached the Chief, stopping a healthy distance away, the Alpha’s glowing red eyes scanned over each person in the tent, assessing any threats. His gaze remained an extra beat on Stiles, causing the teen to unconsciously hold his breath, before he returned his eyes to the Chief. Stiles couldn’t help but notice the Alpha subtly scenting the air. Super senses, right.

“Alpha Hale,” the Chief began formally, “thank you for answering our call, and welcome to our little community. Our peaceful treaty has left us distant, but allied, none-the-less.”

The Alpha didn’t say anything, the slight frown marring his thick brow unwavering. His expression hadn’t changed with Stiles’ father’s greeting at all. Maybe that was just the Alpha’s normal expression. Who knew, it could’ve even been his friendly expression. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to deter the Chief, though.

“We’ve received a threat from a werewolf pack that has been invading human tribes from the north,” the Chief began to explain, cutting to the heart of the matter. “We’ve heard all that have fought on their own have fallen, and we wish to not follow a similar fate. We are hoping to look to your pack for protection from this threat, to fight alongside us and send this invading pack fleeing from our lands so we can return to peace once again.”

“What threat have they spoken?” Alpha Hale asked, his voice low but clear. While the second wolf’s eyes had now faded to a more natural, human-like hue, the Alpha’s continued to glow bright red.

“To surrender our land and our crops, or be killed,” the Chief responded.

The Alpha bared his fangs at the words, “What information have you scouted already? How big is the pack?”

The Chief looked at Argent, who was in charge of the scouts, and would have the most recent information.

“We have conflicting reports,” Argent began, “some say no more than fifty, some say over a hundred and fifty. We have sent our own scouts to confirm, but they haven’t returned yet.”

The Alpha let out a huff at the lack of information.

“We have a common interest, Alpha Hale,” Whittemore began hesitantly, drawing the Alpha’s attention. Stiles was glad that intense attention wasn’t directed at him. The guy’s stare was unsettling. “This land. If they annihilate our tribe, they’ll be on your doorstep. We both know the riches of this land, and we both benefit from it. It’s in your pack’s best interest --”

A snarled growl had Whittemore stopping his monologue.

“I would appreciate you leaving my pack’s best interest to me,” the Alpha stated, fangs still bared.

“Of course,” the Chief interjected, raising his free hand at Whittemore’s sound of protest, “only you can speak for your pack. We mean no disrespect.”

The Alpha’s eyes flickered to Stiles once more, causing the hair on the back of Stiles’ neck to stand up. Despite meeting the wolf’s stare straight on, he couldn’t help but feel like prey under the heavy gaze of a predator. Their subtle stand-off quickly drew the attention of the two other men that had accompanied the Alpha.

Just as Stiles’ father was clearing his throat, the Alpha spoke, eyes still trained on Stiles.

“The best thing for my pack is to expand it while keeping this land, its riches and its people,” Alpha Hale stated, eyes only then falling back to the Chief. “While my pack is strong, and has healthy alliances with neighboring packs, our numbers are small.”

“We can completely understand and respect that, Alpha Hale. Our tribe is small in numbers as well,” said the Chief.

“It’s time for new blood, and new beginnings,” the Alpha stated.

Stiles’ eyes narrowed. He could tell where this was heading, and if he was right, Whittemore was not going be very happy about it.

“The Hale Pack will come to your aid on the condition that your tribe joins the pack and integrates with us.”

Just as Stiles expected, Whittemore was quick on his rebuttal.

“You mean submit to you.”

“I mean join us,” the Alpha snapped back, meeting the challenge head on. “Blend tribe and pack. Humans and werewolves. Those who want the bite can have it, and those who don’t will be respected. Mates will be taken, and new bloodlines created. The diversity will help the pack thrive.”

The Chief took a deep breath. Stiles knew that his father would try to keep this as calm and peaceful as he could, and that he was merely buying time to think this proposal over. He would never want to give much away during any negotiations, but when negotiating with werewolves, who could sense the littlest tremor of your heart, or smell an ounce of fear, everyone, the Chief especially, would need to keep their emotions reined in.

What the Alpha was proposing was big, and not at all expected. At least, Stiles wasn’t expecting it, and he doubted his dad had been expecting it either. Maybe some free trade was anticipated; some livestock surrendered, maybe some wine. But the merging of the two groups? It hadn’t ever crossed Stiles’ mind. Was this a common occurrence? Stiles had never heard of it. He’d never heard of human and werewolf co-existing.

“How exactly do you propose that happens?” Whittemore asked.

“I would recommend a melding of the two groups,” the Emissary interjected, surprising the council, but not the wolves. “To be one community, to teach each other your respective traditions, and create your own as well. You will have to work and act as one. It won’t be easy, and it will take time, but in order to be successful, the best way would be to unite the leadership of the two groups. Our Alpha is not yet mated. If our Alpha were to take your Chief’s descendant as his mate, it would show a strong commitment to the merger, easing the transition for both pack and tribe.”

“Your first born daughter would be the likely choice,” the other wolf spoke, causing a snarl to come from the Alpha, which had the second wolf tilting his head ever so slightly. The movement was so small Stiles almost missed it, but he recognized it for what it was, a sign of submission.

“I have no daughters, only one son,” the Chief replied, gesturing to Stiles. “My wife passed before we could have any more children.”

“The Alpha needs to produce the next generation’s alpha. He needs pups,” the secondary wolf responded once more, eliciting the same reaction from the Alpha. Stiles got the feeling the Alpha didn’t like what the secondary wolf was saying, or maybe that the guy was even speaking at all. Regardless, the guy liked to push his Alpha, apparently.

Stiles only realized he’d been gawking when the Alpha’s moody stare fell back to him. Swallowing, he looked away, unsettled by the Alpha’s fixated frown.

“Perhaps the daughter of a high ranking family, then,” the Chief tried, desperate to make this work.

“Wait now,” the Emissary said, his eyes trained on Stiles, a silence descending on the tent. “This son is a spark.”

Stiles frowned in confusion, looking to his dad for clarification.

“I’m sorry? A what?” the Chief asked before glancing back at Stiles, his eyes crinkling in a similar look of confusion.

“A spark,” the Emissary repeated. “He’s been touched with the gift of magic. It’s dormant, but it’s there. He possesses a rare power. A spark can bend reality to their will, which would allow him to bear the Alpha’s children, if he so wished.”

The Alpha’s gaze snapped back to Stiles, eyes widening by a fraction. He huffed loudly, nostrils flaring as his red eyes seemed to glow even brighter, if possible. It looked like he wanted to say or do something, but he remained silent, unmoving.

Whoa, wait, hold on. Stiles was magic? That was amazing and exciting news! What that could mean! The possibilities that lied before him swirled quickly in his mind, only to come to a full stop when he processed that the Emissary was proposing Stiles produce children as a woman would. Now, wait just a freaking minute here …

“You’re saying my son is a mage?”

“Something like that.”

Stiles’ head was spinning. Was his dad actually believing this?!?

“If you need more time to think it over…” the Alpha began, at least offering them time to caucus. Obviously the wolves came in here expecting negotiations to go this way; to merge the two groups; for the Alpha to take a mate. But had they been prepared for the Alpha to take a young male as his mate? And for that male to produce the Alpha’s children? Did the Alpha not mind a male-male relationship?

Stiles parted his lips, taking shallow breaths as quietly as he could while trying to tamp down on his panic.  Yes, they needed more time to think it over! _Stiles_ needed more time to think it over. He needed a moment to calm down first though, to leash the overwhelming panic bubbling in his chest from not only learning that he was a mage – or at least could be a mage – but that he could also produce children as a woman could. The Alpha’s children. Why wasn’t anyone else freaking out about this right now?!?

Despite knowing the wolves could probably smell his panic, and hear his heart thundering in his chest, there was no way Stiles could possibly hide his reaction from their superior senses. Fortunately, they seemed to be giving him some semblance of respect by allowing him to have his reaction in some impression of privacy, their eyes dutifully trained on the Chief.

Stiles licked his lips nervously, looking to his father as well. He knew what his father’s answer would be before his dad even went to open his mouth. To them, the leaders of the community, it was simple; the tribe, the treaties, everything else, then them. The tribe’s welfare came first in all matters, and aligning the tribe with werewolves would do nothing but help protect their people, and most likely bring prosperity through hunting, bloodlines, and more aid with farming. The second most important thing to protect were the treaties held by the tribe. Without friends and allies, the tribe could be easily taken over. They needed to nurture and respect their treaties, keeping them strong and healthy. By merging with the Hales, not only would they be solidifying their treaty with them permanently, but they would also inherit any and all alliances to the Hales as well.

So, it would be in the tribe’s best interest to go through with it; to align with the Hales; to give Stiles as a mate. Stiles knew when it came down to it, the Stilinskis needed to put everything else before themselves. _Everything else, then them._

The Chief simply shook his head once.

“We don’t need more time,” the Chief said solemnly, not even glancing to Stiles before responding. “You have our word. If you provide protection during this threat, if we make it through it, we agree to come into your pack. Together, working cohesively, we will survive. Then, through the union of you and my son, the pack and the tribe will get through the tough merger of pack and tribe, together.”

The deathly grip of sheer panic on Stiles’ chest eased ever so slightly. It sounded like his dad was agreeing to the union only upon the Hales successfully getting them through this threat. Stiles would still have time to talk this over with his father, to make sense of it all, and to possibly see if there was a way out of it. As much as he’d do anything for the tribe, having to completely surrender his role as a man and exchange it for that of a woman’s … it wasn’t something he had ever considered having to do before. Those things weren’t possible, were they?

“We’ll want an assurance,” the second wolf stated, pulling all of the council’s eyes to him.

“What kind of assurance?” Whittemore asked, suspicion thick in his tone.

“To prove your integrity, provide the Chief’s son immediately. We’ll bring him back to our pack where the pair can begin their mating bond, and we can begin discussion of pack integration and defense strategies.”

Stiles opened his mouth in objection before quickly snapping it shut again, grinding his teeth together. He couldn’t say anything. It would be nothing but disrespectful. He was the bartering chip, he didn’t have a say at this point. He had to leave the decision to his dad and the rest of the council now. The wolves were making solid proposals, ones that made sense, ones that Stiles knew they would be making if the situation was reversed.

Stiles knew that everything else came before them, but surely his father wasn’t intending to wed him off to the wolves. Was he? Giving up Stiles’ manhood? Sealing a deal that would alter Stiles’ future from anything he had ever dreamed of?

“Dad,” Stiles began, voice quiet, but the urgency in his tone unmistakable. He barely registered that he’d actually said the word out loud until he received a hard look from the Chief. Stiles faltered for a moment, easily reading his father’s expression. His dad was telling him now was _not_ the time. But if Stiles didn’t speak up now, he didn’t know whether he’d get another chance before the deal was struck. “Chief,” he tried again, allowing the plea to bleed from his eyes. He didn’t want to undermine his father in front of the wolves, or disrespect him in any way – well, more so than he currently was – so he switched to the more formal title.

“Not now,” the Chief interjected, practically hissing the words.

Stiles bit his bottom lip to stop anything further from slipping out, dipping his head to the ground. He could feel his cheeks flush hot in embarrassment at being dismissed so quickly. He had been right in his earlier analysis. He didn’t get a say.

The ground started to get blurry as tears stung his eyes. Stiles swallowed thickly around the painful lump in his throat, blinking hard to clear his vision. He wouldn’t cry in front of everyone. He was the next Chief of this tribe, and he would act in a manner that would respectfully represent them.

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

_The tribe, the --_

“You have our promise,” the Chief said stiffly. “We will join your pack and together we’ll defend and benefit from this land. Are you sure my son is what you want? That he possesses this spark you speak of?” the Chief queried once again. “What if he cannot produce the children you’re expecting?”

“He has the gift,” the Emissary replied. “I, personally, will work with him to train him, to hone his power. He is the perfect choice for a mate for our Alpha. Blending the leadership is the best way for this to work.”

“Alpha Hale, you agree?” The Chief ventured.

The Alpha simply nodded, his eyes flickering between Stiles and the Chief.

“Then it is done. You will be wed tonight,” the Chief stated.

Stiles’ head whipped up to his father, eyes wide in shocked panic. He swayed ever so slightly. It felt like the ground was being swept out from under him.

_Tonight?!?_

The Chief met his look with a pointed stare which only had Stiles looking back down at the ground. It was done then. He’d been bartered off to the wolves to save his people.

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

Stiles shut his eyes tightly against the onslaught of emotions. He could feel his hands trembling, his knees threatening to buckle as he fought to remain still through the remainder of the meeting. There would be time for him crumble under the pressure later, in private.

“We will perform your custom, however the bond won’t be fully complete until they mate under the full moon,” the Emissary said, sounding very far off to Stiles now. The pounding of his pulse was dulling everything else out.

“Very well, that’s only three nights after this night anyways,” the Chief said, standing from his chair. “We have had a feast prepared to honour your arrival. Now there is even more to celebrate. We’ll hold the ceremony just before dinner. Argent,” the Chief said, sweeping his hand towards their military leader, “please show our guests to their tents. I need a moment alone with my son.”

Stiles let out a shaky breath, eyes still trained on the ground. The discussion with his father wasn’t going to be good. He’d disrespected him in front of their guests, disgracing their family and their tribe. He was in for it.

He deserved it.

As Argent approached the wolves, moving to escort them out of the tent, the Alpha wolf hesitated a moment, seemingly weighing a thought before advancing towards Stiles. The movement caught Stiles’ attention, drawing his eyes up the muscular form before settling on the Alpha’s red, glowing eyes. Stiles held the heavy gaze, not wanting to show any sign of weakness despite the moisture that still lingered in his own eyes. He, too, was a leader. He wouldn’t shrink to another authority figure, regardless of that person’s supernatural strength or the new role Stiles was expected to play.

The Alpha raised his hand, firmly grasping the back of Stiles’ neck before pulling him forward forcefully. Stiles stumbled, caught unprepared as he tried desperately not to fall into the larger frame. Once Stiles found his footing, the Alpha leaned forward, hovering into Stiles’ personal space, his nose taking long pulls of their shared air. Stiles found himself holding his breath, his body rigid as the Alpha encroached upon his personal boundary. Hadn’t the guy ever heard of a personal bubble?

Apparently satisfied with whatever he was doing, the Alpha then rubbed his stubbled cheek against Stiles’ smooth one, causing an embarrassing squeak to pass Stiles’ parted lips. Then, with nothing more, he let go of Stiles before turning and leaving the tent, followed quickly by everyone else, leaving the Stilinski men alone.

Stiles choked out a laugh, which was actually closer to a sob as his wobbly knees finally gave out and he sunk to the dirt floor of the tent. His chest was still gripping itself painfully tight, and he felt nauseous and light headed.

What the hell just happened? Stiles was going to be married, tonight, to the Alpha of the Hale pack, and was expected to produce his children.

“Breathe,” Stiles could distantly hear his dad saying, vaguely aware of a hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. When Stiles gathered enough of himself, thinking he wouldn’t throw up when he moved his head, he looked up, squinting at his father who was kneeling in front of him. “Say it with me,” his dad coached gently.

Stiles looked back at the ground, the words lost on him.

This wasn’t happening.

“The tribe,” the Chief began, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder again encouragingly.

“Dad,” Stiles said, his voice cracking on the single syllable.

“The treaties,” the Chief continued, just as quietly.

Stiles slammed his eyes shut.

_No._

His dad had never mentioned this. Stiles had been prepared all his life for the sacrifices he may one day have to make for his tribe: to fight, to go to war, to take a wife from a neighbouring tribe or any wife he was assigned, to travel, to barter, to sell his possessions, to give his life. But this? He had never been warned of this. That he’d have to give up his role as a man, to a werewolf.

Stiles’ mind was already whirling with the possibilities of what would be expected of him, of what he’d be turned into, of how his responsibilities of ruler would be stripped from him.

“Everything else,” his father’s voice penetrated his thoughts.

“Dad, please,” Stiles whimpered, leaning further forward so he was bowed to his father, forehead touching the dirt. He was begging. He wasn’t above begging. This couldn’t be his future.

“Say it,” his dad said, his tone losing its gentling quality, turning hard.

Stiles let out a real sob as the tears finally squeezed out from behind his closed eyelids, falling directly into the dirt. He shook his head, refusing to believe his dad had given away his only son and heir, taking away Stiles’ ability to ever sire a child.  

His dad grabbed his shoulders, pulling him up so he could look at Stiles. Stiles pried his eyes open, wanting to convey the hurt, anger, betrayal, fear, and everything else he was feeling at that moment. Only, his emotions were quickly overtaken by shock, guilt, realization, then gradual acceptance as he took in the tears glimmered back at him from his father’s eyes.

In that moment Stiles felt selfish. He knew while he may be making the biggest sacrifice, he wasn’t the only one making one. His father’s dreams for him were also being shattered.

Stiles knew what he had to do. It was simple, when it came down it, really. This was his responsibility, his burden to bear to keep his tribe safe.

Locking eyes with his father, Stiles nodded his assent.

“Then us,” Stiles finally whispered.

“That’s my boy.”

              

The ceremony was a simple one, performed by Stiles’ father quickly before dinner. Stiles and the Alpha stood at the front of the dinner hall, one of each of their forearms tied together tightly as the Chief chanted words of unity.

Stiles did his best to keep his emotions even, breathing deeply while keeping his eyes on his father. The one time he tried to sneak a glance at the Alpha, whose expression was still cold and unwavering, a pit of dread formed in the bottom of his stomach so sharply he almost doubled over from it.

When his father completed the ceremony, presenting the couple to the tribe, the Alpha simply took Stiles’ hand, raising it to the crowd who cheered. They knew what this meant. They were protected. They were saved. There were a few whispers wondering why the Alpha was taking a male mate, but the majority were too happy to question it. Even Stiles’ best friend, Scott, who he easily picked out in the crowd, was crowing with glee.

Stiles desperately tried to take in their energy, their exuberance. This is why he was doing it, for his people. He needed to remember this – their love and support, gratitude and praise – anytime he was doubting this path. It was them who would get him through this.

During dinner, Stiles just couldn’t sit still. His fingers were constantly moving; drumming a rhythm out on the head table, picking at the sleeves of his shirt, scratching at his jawline. His agitation was obvious to those who knew him well, and to the wolves, who could smell it on him.

The party surged around them, may people coming up to congratulate the newly wed pair. The Alpha nodded his thanks at them all, but didn’t say much. Stiles could only manage weak smiles and polite gratitude before his eyes flitted back to the party, his mind not able to focus on any one thing for long.

Besides their vows, the Alpha hadn’t say a word to Stiles all evening, not even sparing him a glance or any form of acknowledgement in any way. As the night drew on, Stiles stomach twisted into tighter knots. Was this going to be their marriage? Him being ignored by this dominating, powerful, cold, stranger of a man?

Stiles had always hoped to marry a friend, or if the marriage was arranged, develop a friendship, something that could become close and intimate. But how do you make friends with someone who couldn’t even stand to look at you?

Sometime into the festivities, when more than a few people had enjoyed too much of the wine, the Emissary – Deaton, Stiles remembered – approached the head table. He bowed slightly before moving to Stiles’ side, bending over to speak discreetly into his ear.

“Come now,” Deaton said quietly so no other humans could hear, “let me prepare you.”

Stiles sat up straighter, his eyes widening in alarm as Deaton’s words sunk in.

_Prepare you?!?_

Stiles jerked back from Deaton, hitting his knee on the table, drawing the attention of the Alpha and those close around them. Stiles’ cheeks burned at the meaning behind the words. Prepare you – to consummate your marriage.

Stiles swallowed thickly, his eyes searching out first his dad who was engaged in a deep conversation with Whittemore, then for Scott, who was trying to gain the attention of Argent’s daughter. They were enjoying their evening, completely oblivious to Stiles’ distress; how his life was about to change. How Stiles wished to be them…

Raising his chin ever so slightly, not daring to look to the Alpha, who Stiles knew had heard what Deaton said, Stiles rose from his chair. Together, they slipped from the party unnoticed, Deaton leading Stiles towards the tents that had been set up earlier that day for their visitors.

When they entered the largest tent, the Alpha’s tent, Stiles’ eyes carefully travelled the room. There was the main section of the tent, then a smaller connecting tent off the back where a bed was made up. In the main section, there was a table with food and wine taking up the majority of the centre, with other smaller tables set around the outskirts for the Alpha to use for whatever he wanted; weapons, clothing, books, anything really. Every table was dressed in cloth with candles already lit, giving the tent a warm atmosphere. A romantic atmosphere some might say, which only made Stiles even more nervous that he already was.

There was a tub just off to the side of the main room as well. Steam was coming from the water, but the air was missing the scents Stiles’ people usually mixed with the water to bathe.

“Please,” Deaton said, gesturing towards the tub when Stiles remained hovering near the entrance of the tent.

Stiles hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck before making his way over to the bath. He was grateful when the Emissary turned his back, busying himself with some supplies on a table and giving Stiles some privacy to disrobe.

Once Stiles had settled himself into the almost-too-hot water, Deaton came back over with a cloth in his hand.

“I can understand how overwhelming this all must be,” Deaton began.

Stiles huffed, refusing to look at the Emissary. That was the understatement of the year.

“But there are traditions and practices used by wolves that you will now need to learn, and eventually, when the time comes, teach your people as well.” Kneeling, Deaton dipped the cloth into the water. “Bathing will be different than how you’ve traditionally done it. Wolves, as you know, have a keen sense of smell. The oils and extracts humans use in the water will throw off a wolf’s smell. Not only does it mask the natural scent of a person, a unique identifier to a wolf, but it artificially saturates the air, reducing the ability to properly recognise threats.” Deaton paused, allowing Stiles time to process what he was saying. “I’ll show you how to wash once, but will leave it to you from here on out. If you have any questions, about this or anything else, I’m here to answer them.”

Deaton took Stiles through the motions of how to wash; a little lighter around the neck and behind the ears, while paying particular attention to the groin and bottom. Even though Deaton was gentle if not clinical in his ministrations, it still had Stiles blushing furiously through the whole experience, greatly uncomfortable.

It was just so overwhelming. He was being bathed by a stranger in preparation to consummate his marriage to a werewolf.

What, exactly, would define consummation?

“Just so I fully understand what’s happening here,” Stiles started nervously, his eyes trained on the bath water, “Alpha Hale and I … well … he is expecting to … I mean … tonight we’re going to …”

“Have sexual intercourse, Stiles, yes,” Deaton gently interrupted, saving Stiles from his painful questioning. “It’s a very important wedding night tradition in both cultures. The Alpha pair must have a strong, healthy relationship, which includes sex. If other wolves start to suspect the Alpha pair weak, or struggling, they could be challenged and killed.”

Stiles’ eyes shot up to Deaton, a number of emotions playing across his features.

“Killed,” Stiles stated, disbelievingly.

“The only way to dethrone an Alpha is to kill him, or her. The Alpha’s mate is usually killed at the same time, but on occasion will be sold or enslaved,” Deaton responded.

Stiles recoiled slightly, sloshing the water in the bath. This day had to be the worst day of Stiles’ life. If not the worst, a close runner up to losing his mother. In a matter of hours, he had been married to a male Alpha werewolf, advised he was some sort of spark mage thing and that he would be expected to produce children with the Alpha, had the responsibility to merge tribe and pack traditions, and now, on top of it all, if he didn’t build a strong, successful relationship with the Alpha - who wouldn’t even look at him - he could be killed, sold, or enslaved?

Stiles closed his eyes, taking a deep, measured breath, trying to remember the way it had felt standing in front of his people as they had cheered at their wedding. This was for them.

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

“What would other wolves consider weak?” Stiles asked. He needed to know. He needed to know how to make their relationship work.

Deaton started to slowly run the cloth up and down Stiles’ back, a soothing gesture that was mostly meant to calm, but wasn’t doing anything of the sort.

“It’s more of a sense thing,” Deaton carefully began, “the wolves will sense if an Alpha pair isn’t doing well. They’ll know through scent if there’s a lack of mating, or will scent emotions of indifference, aggression, sadness, loneliness, or hate towards each other. There are many signs a pair isn’t doing well.”

Stiles bit his bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth. Right, no pressure. Just, ensure you have sex regularly with your stranger of a husband, and, you know, love him. No big deal.

“Hey, you mentioned earlier that I’m a spark? While I don’t know the full extent of what that means, and I’m sure we’ll go into it in detail soon, I just need to know one thing for tonight. Could we … Alpha Hale and I … conceive … tonight? Is that possible yet?”

Deaton offered a patient smile.

“No, not yet. You and I will have to do some training in order to allow that to happen.”

Stiles exhaled slowly, relieved. At least that was one less thing he had to worry about over the course of the evening.

When the bath was done, Deaton presented Stiles a cloak to don, and nothing else. The cloak was from the tribe, typically worn the night of a wedding. Beautifully intricate designs spanned its sides, symbolizing the beautiful gift being given. The cloak was light, drawing fully around Stiles’ shoulders and form, cascading all the way to the floor, completely concealing Stiles, even his feet. Two clasps drew the front of the cloak together, one at the throat, and one at the upper chest level. A hood was also available, but Deaton advised to leave it off, allowing Stiles’ neck to be exposed for the Alpha.

“When mating an Alpha, there has to be submission,” Deaton advised, tying the clasps of the cloak. “If an Alpha feels threatened or challenged, he will attack, attempting to aggressively dominate,” Deaton said, going over to the main table and pouring water into a cup he had been dumping herbs into earlier. “After you mate under the full moon, you will be considered an Alpha too, but until then it wouldn’t be wise to challenge him. There are practices to formally submit when you mate a werewolf, however we can wait until the full moon for that. Tonight can be a more human-like experience for you.” Bringing the cup over, he thrust it towards Stiles who took it warily.

“What is it?” Stiles asked, looking down into the cup. The concoction didn’t smell too bad.

“There are relaxing agents in it. It will help dull your senses a bit.”

“Dull my …” Stiles repeated before allowing the words to completely fall away. The only reason to take something to relax and dull his senses before sex would be in expectation of it hurting. “Deaton?” Stiles queried quietly, a touch of concern bleeding through his tone.

“The male alpha werewolf has similar sexual anatomy to an actual wolf. Their penis knots during intercourse. It’s to help ensure his seed is taken. It will take some getting used to. That,” Deaton said, gesturing to the cup, “should help until you become accustomed to it.”

Stiles couldn’t stop the full body shudder that spread from head to hip. This needed to stop, this day needed to officially be over, because Stiles didn’t think he could handle one more ounce of weird, crazy news. He wanted to wake up and have this all be just a bad, horribly realistic dream.

“Drink it, it will help,” Deaton said, gesturing to the cup again as he recapped his herbs and started putting them into a brown satchel.

Stiles stared down into the cup, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as he processed the day’s events. A sob broke from him suddenly, followed quickly by a laugh. How had things gone so astray so quickly? His sight blurred as tears formed, the cup with the watery herbs quickly going out of focus.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Deaton’s gentle voice called as he came and grasped Stiles’ forearm, urging him to take a sip from the cup, “but all you can do is take it one day at a time. I truly believe this will be best for both pack and tribe.”

Stiles squeezed the cup tighter, trying to stop his hand from trembling.

“In time, you’ll see,” Deaton said.

Stiles nodded, taking a deep breath before bringing the cup to his lips. The water tasted the same as it smelled, not great, but not too bad either. There was a strong woodsy flavor with hints of lavender and camomile. It reminded him briefly of what his mother used to give him as a child when he was ill.

Lifting his gaze, he nodded to Deaton in thanks, blinking back the tears and refusing to let them fall. The Emissary was right. It would be better, Stiles just had to remember his place. Tribe, treaties, everything else, then him.

“Stay there. He’ll be in shortly,” Deaton said, taking the cup from Stiles and placing it on the table with the fruit and wine before collecting his satchel and making his way out of the tent.

Just like that, Stiles was alone. He felt so out of place in the big tent, standing awkwardly in the centre of the main area, awaiting an alpha werewolf, his husband, to come in and – what? Well, surely have sex, but what exactly would that entail? Would the wolf claim Stiles’ mouth? His bottom? Both? Would he be the same cold hearted, angry looking guy he had been all evening, or would he open up in privacy? Become someone calmer, gentler? Stiles could only hope that his demeanour was only his armour for the outside world.

Stiles grasped fistfuls of the cloak, desperate to have something to hold onto as he felt himself being dragged down into a pit of fear and anxiety. He couldn’t help the trepidation of what was to come creep up on him, his breaths starting to come in short gasps as his sight once again blurred.

When the curtain of the tent was pulled aside, and the Alpha entered, Stiles’ breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t ready. He needed more time to prepare himself, to psych himself up. He wasn’t ready for this yet.

Immediately, Stiles downcast his eyes, heeding Deaton’s advice. He didn’t want to unintentionally challenge the Alpha. Stiles’ shoulders remained back though, his chin held high.

The Alpha paced around the main room for a moment, doing what, Stiles wasn’t sure. He could see the Alpha’s feet come in and out of his peripheral vision, but Stiles didn’t move. He was doing his best to control the trepidation pressing against his lungs, robbing him of his breath. It took everything in him to stand still, tall and proud as the Alpha approached, coming to a stop right in front of Stiles.

While Stiles’ eyes remained on the ground, he could see the Alpha was wearing a cloak similar to Stiles’. The skin was a little darker, but there were similar intricate patterns. Stiles didn’t know whether to feel appreciative of the wolf taking to their customs, or offended.

“Deaton tells me you’ve not yet mated,” the Alpha stated. While his tone was unjudging, Stiles couldn’t help the heat that flooded his cheeks. He didn’t know why he was having that sort of reaction. It wasn’t something he should be ashamed of.

“It’s customary that future chiefs not mate until they turn eighteen and take a wife. I don’t turn eighteen until next year,” Stiles responded, continuing to keep his eyes down, focusing on keeping his breathing steady.

The wolf hummed, “And our arrangement seems to have nullified you taking a wife at all. What are your feelings on the matter, now that we’re in the privacy of our own tent?”

Stiles swallowed, knowing he needed to choose his words wisely.

“I’ll do whatever is best for the tribe. Your generous offer of protection will keep my people alive. The aligning of our tribes--”

“Packs--” the Alpha interrupted.

Stiles continued to push through as though the Alpha hadn’t said anything, “-- will do nothing but bring prosperity. Our union will bring prosperity.”

“That’s a very diplomatic answer, but I want to know what you think, not what the future leader of your pack – now to be our pack – thinks.”

Stiles raised his eyes to the wolf’s mouth, still careful not to make eye contact.

His head started to ache. He was already so tired and overwhelmed by everything that had happened that day. Now he felt like he was playing with fire, unsure of what the wolf wanted to hear, terrified of what the wrong answer may elicit. He didn’t have the energy to play this game right now.

“Our union will bring prosperity,” Stiles repeated, his voice wavering. He cursed himself. He didn’t want to display the cracks in his poise.

The Alpha simply stood there for a moment, a fleeting look of disappointment crossing his features.

Was that not the right answer?

Before Stiles had the opportunity to open his mouth and try to answer differently, the Alpha huffed, his eyes burning into Stiles. The sound was purely animalistic and had the hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck and arms standing up. Not for one moment was Stiles able to forget he was up against a predator. 

“Take off your cloak,” the Alpha suddenly said, breaking the silence.

Stiles’ eyes flickered up to the Alpha’s in surprise for the briefest second before he averted his gaze. The command had Stiles drawing up short. Surely they weren’t going to … not yet. They had to talk more first, didn’t they? At least kiss before baring themselves to each other?

Stiles’ hesitation apparently didn’t go over well with the Alpha, as he reached for the clasps of the cloak. Stiles flinched away, drawing back a single step, his heartbeat hammering in his chest as he gathered the cloak closer to him protectively.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” the Alpha said, a tense patience to his voice. “I don’t want to hurt you, but we are doing this tonight.”

Stiles clenched his jaw tightly. He wanted to argue, to tell him that this wasn’t how it should be happening, but he didn’t know what the consequences would be. Couldn’t they take this a little slower? Couldn’t they formally introduce themselves first?

Again, Stiles must have taken too long to respond because the next thing he knew he was being hauled over the Alpha’s shoulder. Stiles yelped, flailing slightly for purchase against the Alpha’s own cloak as they ventured further into the tent, making their way into the smaller tent at the back that held the bed.

The Alpha flopped Stiles onto the raised platform, piled high with blankets and furs. Before Stiles could even get his bearings and right his cloak, the Alpha’s hands were pushing the fabric away from Stiles’ body.

“Wait,” Stiles insisted, trying to pry his cloak out of the wolf’s hands while curling away from him, trying to cover himself again.

A fierce growl had Stiles freezing, his whole body going rigid at the primal threat. What was Stiles doing? This was a werewolf. An Alpha werewolf who could easily rip him limb to limb. Now was not the time to be his usual, disobedient self.

“Be still,” the Alpha growled out, yanking Stiles’ hands away from the cloak and grasping both his wrists easily in one hand. He pulled Stiles’ wrists to one side as his free hand tore away the clasps of the cloak, pushing the cloak fully open and off Stiles. He let go of Stiles’ wrists then, leaning back so he could take in all of the naked form before him.

Stiles couldn’t control the full body flush that occurred from being so fully exposed, especially since the wolf remained fully cloaked himself. He could feel the Alpha’s eyes rake over his body, a hunger and anticipation heavily filling the room.

A whimper let itself past Stiles’ lips without his permission as he clenched his hands into fists, fighting off the tremors wracking his body. He laid there paralyzed with fear, shouting at himself to cover his prone form that the wolf was feasting his eyes on. Stiles had never felt so helpless or degraded in his life.

The only thing he could do was close his eyes and turn his head away from the wolf, not wanting to see the glow of his red eyes.

Stiles jerked when a warm hand clasped his shoulder. The Alpha hesitated, extracting his hand for the briefest moment before manhandling Stiles’ stiff limbs until he was positioned on his hands and knees, back now to the Alpha. Stiles had the briefest moment to open his eyes, wide with fear, before he felt a hot, steady hand between his shoulder blades, pushing down until his shoulders were resting on the bed, his vulnerable bottom up in the air.

“Like this,” the Alpha instructed, pushing a little harder on Stiles back – a clear signal to stay still – before removing his hand completely.

Stiles was practically panting with fear, his breaths stuttering as panic coiled tightly in his chest. He was just going to be taken? Like this? No preamble? No build up? Just … a fuck? Was this going to be his married life? Being bent over and used as the Alpha pleased? Stiles slammed his eyes shut tightly at the thought, his throat constricting with emotion. This was going to be his life now.

Behind him, Stiles could hear the Alpha moving slightly, his breathing deep. If it wasn’t for those sounds, Stiles would think he was alone in the tent. He felt like an object, being bent over with his ass up in the air on display without so much as a touch, word, or caress.

It took a couple moments, but Stiles was able to piece together what was happening. The Alpha was stroking himself, probably to hardness before he was going to enter Stiles.

But as the moments stretched on, Stiles started to wonder if something was wrong. Did the wolf not find him sufficient? Sexually at least? Could the Alpha not get hard because he considered Stiles inadequate as a human? Or worse, just plainly inadequate, even for a human?

Stiles could feel his emotions getting away from him again as he fisted the blankets slowly, wanting nothing more than to claw and crawl his way free.

Then, as Stiles was starting to feel himself being swallowed by embarrassment and despair, he felt something lightly hit his lower back and bottom.

Stiles blinked his eyes open in confusion. Did the Alpha just discharge on him? Without entering him? What did that mean? Was that just a warm up? Maybe werewolves had amazing recovery rates, and that was just the beginning?

Stiles was jerked from his thoughts when he felt the Alpha’s large, strong hands start to kneed Stiles’ lower back. He tensed, unsure of what the Alpha was doing as his hands start rubbing slippery circles across his skin. Stiles winced when he put together that the movements were eased due to the slick of the Alpha’s ejaculate. The Alpha was literally rubbing his release all over Stiles’ lower back and bottom. When the Alpha’s fingers flitted in between Stiles’ cheeks, however, rubbing ejaculate over and around Stiles’ entrance, he couldn’t hold back a squeak of surprise, flinching at the fleeting touches. When the same fingers reached around and started rubbing the ejaculate all over Stiles’ genitals, he couldn’t help yelping and recoiling from the touch altogether.

The Alpha merely grunted, grabbing Stiles’ hips and pulling him back into position before resuming his ministrations. He finished off by rubbing the last of it over Stiles’ lower stomach. Seriously, how much cum was there?

Stiles’ whole body was quivering by the time the Alpha finished, embarrassment and confusion coursing through him. Was this a territorial thing? The werewolf marking his territory? Or some form of lubricant to help the act of actual penetration?

Before Stiles could even process what the heck just happened, the Alpha was climbing into the bed and once again manhandling Stiles into position – Stiles’ back against the Alpha’s chest. Stiles was clearly the little spoon with the Alpha wrapping himself solidly around Stiles’ smaller, lithe frame. He rubbed his cheek against Stiles’ again, then continued down to his neck, creating a warm burn from his stubble. Stiles remained tense through the whole thing.

When the Alpha finally settled, and his breathing started to even off, Stiles lay there, body still tense. He stayed that way all night, awake for most of it, held tightly in his husband’s grasp, his eyes fluttering around the tent, taking in the candles, the Alpha’s abandoned cloak, the fruit and wine ...

His mind couldn’t help whirling through all the possibilities of how this marriage would play out, wondering if their sex life would be anything more than what had occurred that night, piecing possibilities together on how to conceive.

As morning light started to pierce through the tent, Stiles finally felt his eyes slip closed. The last conscious thought he had was that it all didn’t matter. He was doing this for his people.

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

Stiles dozed, drifting in and out of a light sleep.  For some reason, he wasn’t relaxing enough to fall into a deeper sleep, but he couldn’t remember exactly why. He murmured tiredly when he felt a steady pressure on his shoulder, pressing him face down into the bed. When his cheek caressed the fur of the blanket, it pulled a grunt of confusion from him.

Who was helping him to bed?

“Easy now,” a voice rumbled, piercing through the sleep-induced fog muddling Stiles’ mind. His brow furrowed with concentration as he tried to place the voice, to remember something important.

When everything slotted into place, Stiles’ eyes flew open.

He was already in bed _,_ with his _husband,_ an _Alpha werewolf._

Stiles couldn’t help but jerk back, gasping as if he was surfacing from being long under water.

The Alpha simply pressed him back down into the blankets with an ease that Stiles would’ve been embarrassed about if he was paying any attention to it.

There was a sudden tug of the blankets, the cool air of the morning quickly washing over Stiles’ skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake while every muscle in his body tightened in panic.

“What-” Stiles tried to ask, turning his torso so he could face the wolf. His attempt was only met with a firm hand pushing him back down so he was again facing the covers. Stiles’ stomach knotted as a strange sense of déjà vu from the night before settled over him. He could feel his heart rate rising, beating wildly in his chest as his mind raced with what the Alpha was going to do.

Were they going to actually have intercourse this morning? Had the Alpha been too tired last night after his day of travelling and now they were going to … well … get on with it? Stiles’ mind screamed at him that he wasn’t ready … he wasn’t awake enough … he hadn’t had the herbs … this could _hurt_!

“Easy,” the Alpha repeated gruffly before gracefully moving to his hands and knees, hovering over Stiles’ prone body. Stiles could feel the Alpha’s body heat radiating from him, his hard muscles brushing against Stiles’ skin. Stiles’ body was so acutely aware of each movement that each brush of the Alpha felt like a shock to his skin, causing Stiles to flinch.

As the Alpha’s hot, hard penis rubbed against his bottom, Stiles whimpered, grasping fists full of the blankets next to his head. His whole body contracted as he was rocked down into the bed from the Alpha’s powerful thrust – then again, and again.

Stiles bit his lip, trying to hold back any noise he might possibly make as he waited for the single thrust that would slip through his cheeks and impale him.

However, just like the night before, as quickly as it had started, it was seemingly over.

Warm ejaculate spilled over Stiles’ lower back, making the Alpha’s last couple thrusts easy with slick. Also much like the previous night, the Alpha gathered his release and slipped his fingers between Stiles’ cheeks, rubbing the ejaculate around Stiles’ entrance.

Stiles squirmed, the touch felt strange in the stark light of day – more oppressing. He pressed his forehead down hard into the blankets in confusion and frustration. _What the hell was happening?_ Was Stiles not good enough to bed? Or mate with? He didn’t know whether to be relieved nothing was happening, or offended.

When he felt the Alpha get off him, leaving the bed completely, Stiles finally felt some of his muscles loosen, the impending threat of a predator and fear of the unknown abating. Stiles grabbed a blanket that was thankfully still warm and pulled it over himself, keeping his face down towards the bed. He didn’t want the wolf to see the pink staining his cheeks, despite probably being able to smell his embarrassment, shame, and uncertainty.

“Let that soak in for a bit. I’ll call for them to bring you some warm water and breakfast,” the Alpha stated, putting on the clothes he had been wearing yesterday as opposed to the cloak he wore last night.

Stiles didn’t respond to the wolf, doubting the Alpha was waiting for any form of acknowledgement anyway. He simply pulled the blankets tighter to him, dipping his head away from his husband, not wanting to engage due to the sheer mortification of their sexual encounters.

Without so much as a backward glance, the Alpha left the tent once he was fully dressed.

As the entrance flapped closed again, Stiles rolled into himself, pulling the blankets and pillows into a ball in front of him so he had something to hug close to him. The stark reality of Stiles’ new life rushed up on him as he laid there in the cold morning light, wet and sticky from the werewolf’s most recent use of him. He no longer had the whirlwind of yesterday’s events to fuddle his thinking. It was clear now, expectations had been laid out – maybe not verbally, but physically. This was his life now, a warm body to be used however the cold-hearted and distant Alpha wanted.

Stiles had always thought – hoped – that his first sexual experiences with another would be a joyous and fun time, a time where he and his partner could explore and savour each other. Of course there would be undertones of anxiety and nervousness, but on his wedding night, Stiles expected to create a strong, lasting bond with his spouse. But he felt none of that warmth, none of that excitement. Instead, he felt cold, empty, and used. The only warmth he had was from the blankets.

Stiles’ chest ached with a misery and self-pity he hadn’t felt since losing his mother. This felt akin to a loss. It was a loss. A loss of a wish. A loss at a chance at happiness. If a few tears escaped in his moment of silent mourning, then no one was around to see them – or smell them for that matter.

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

Just as Stiles untangled himself from his fluffy alcove, determined to get on with his day and put the memories of the last several hours behind him, the curtain of the tent was pushed aside. Lydia strode in with a pot of steaming water. She only had to take one look at Stiles, her elegant, purposeful stride wavering for just a moment, before she dropped the steaming pot right where she was. She rushed over to him, eyes wide with concern.

“Oh Stiles,” Lydia whispered, kneeling in front of her long-time friend. Stiles pulled the blankets a little higher before wiping away any traces of his tears. There was no fooling her though, she would see right through any attempt to hide them. “Are you alright?” she asked, reaching a tentative hand out towards his blanket covered knee before retracting it.

That hurt too – her hesitancy to touch him. Was it because he was now married? To a wolf? Or because she no longer considered him the man he once was? Regardless of the reason for her hesitancy, Stiles gave her a weak, watery smile.

“Of course, I’m fine,” he replied, voice croaky from emotion.

“Nonsense, you wouldn’t be crying if you were fine,” she chastised. “Did he … did he hurt you?”

Stiles snorted, shaking his head. Well, the Alpha hadn’t hurt him in a way he was prepared to vocalize. Pride and ego wasn’t something you talked about to a woman. But he understood her intent behind the question.

“No, nothing like that,” Stiles insisted.

“Did he give you the bite?” she asked, eyes narrowing in anger on his behalf.

“No,” Stiles smiled, huffing. Well, when she asked questions like that his little pity party seemed pretty pathetic. There were worse things he could be crying over at the moment. “Really, Lyds, it’s fine. I’m fine, just a little overwhelmed I guess,” Stiles said, smiling a little brighter for her.

She was eying him suspiciously as the curtain to the tent was again pulled aside. Allison strode in with a basket and a cup, containing breakfast and water respectively, Stiles imagined. She too took one look at Stiles before she quickly deposited her possessions on the food table and dropped to her knees next to Lydia, a look of concern crossing her features.

“What did he do?” Allison asked, voice tight. “Do you want me to go get my father?”

Stiles flushed, embarrassed at the conclusions the girls were coming to. He supposed it was warranted, given the stories about the werewolves and their lust-filled, animalistic ways. Boy, did they ever have it wrong in this case.

Stiles’ chest warmed a little, though. The protectiveness of his friends was filling him with the emotions that had been missing from the night’s experience; caring, friendship, love. What was he going to do without his tribe, however little the time? They would all be together again when the threat of the pack from the north was gone, and they had prepared enough to merge the two groups. But in the meantime, it was going to be hard going through this without them.

“I really appreciate the concern, but I’m fine,” Stiles said, looking from Allison to Lydia pointedly, “honestly.” Neither of the girls looked like they believed him, but it was Allison who saved the moment right when Lydia was going to interject.

“Well, my dad was called to a military strategy session this morning, so you might want to get up and get going if you want to take part in that,” Allison said, squeezing Stiles’ foot through the blanket as she got back to her feet.

Stiles frowned.

A military strategy session? Why hadn’t he been notified? His stomach clenched with unease. It was happening sooner than he expected. What, he became a mate and now he wasn’t expected to take part in these things? That hurt too.

“Yeah, I need to be there for that,” Stiles said, which was more than enough of a hint for the girls. They both rose, turning to leave. Lydia hesitated at the entrance, looking back to give Stiles a smile – a tight smile that clearly conveyed she was still worried about him – before following Allison out.

Stiles sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, hoping to ease some of the tension. He’d have to deal with Lydia’s concern later.

Getting up, Stiles quickly cleaned himself of both the dried cum from the night before, along with the new deposit from that morning using the warm water Lydia had brought in. He had been right in his assessment the night before. There was _a lot_ of ejaculate. More than Stiles had ever produced in a single (make that double) orgasm. That must be a werewolf thing too.

Not wanting to spend any more time dwelling on the proceedings of last night and this morning, Stiles got dressed and grabbed a handful of food before exiting the tent.

He was maybe three steps out into the cold morning air, his breath billowing out in puffs in front of him, before the blue eyed werewolf fell into step beside him. The wolf had been so stealthy in his approach that he startled Stiles enough to veer him off course.

“Geez,” Stiles gasped, slamming a hand to his chest as he corrected his path and continued on, “warn a guy, would you?” Stiles peered at the older wolf out of the corner of his eye. The sly, smarmy smile the guy was giving him made the hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck stand up.

“I apologize, I didn’t get the opportunity to officially welcome you to the family last night,” the wolf said.

Family? Well, Alpha Hale only had one remaining living relative …

“Then you must be-” Stiles said, turning to look at the wolf a little more head on as he continued towards his destination. There was no reason to be rude to the Alpha’s relative.

“Peter Hale,” the wolf said, keeping stride with Stiles as he held out his hand. Stiles looked at it warily. The guy appeared friendly enough, but Stiles wanted to trust his gut on this one. There was something that just didn’t sit right.

With an arched eyebrow, Stiles relented, grasping hands to shake in formal greeting.

The second Stiles’ palm slipped into Peter’s, though, he was pulled roughly towards the wolf. Stiles stumbled into the guy’s chest, looking up in shock only to be met with Peter’s electric blue, glowing eyes, a wildness to them that had Stiles sucking in a gasp of a breath.

The wolf leaned into Stiles’ space, nose dipping to scent at Stiles’ neck. _What the …?_

Stiles hitched his shoulder up in defense, roughly shoving himself away from the wolf. He glared at Peter, declaring with every ounce of body language he could to _stay away._  

Creeping backwards, Stiles kept his eyes on the older man. When Peter remained where he was, features still painted with the same wild eyes and snide smile, Stiles finally turned, picking up his pace.

Peter had been amused, but by what, Stiles wasn’t sure. Seriously, such a creeper. He’d have to ask Alpha Hale – errr – Deaton – he’d have to ask Deaton about Peter later.

All thoughts of Peter quickly fled his mind, though, as Stiles slipped into the war tent. He couldn’t stop himself from silently fuming when his eyes fell on everyone already deep in discussion. His dad, the Alpha, and Argent were all surrounding a map in the middle of the room.

As soon as Stiles entered, the Alpha lifted his head, his eyes glowing red for the briefest moment before fading back to their more human hue. Stiles wondered what color the Alpha’s eyes were in his human form, and then scoffed at himself for wasting time thinking about such trivial things.

Approaching the table, Stiles hesitated, not sure on where to stand. Was he still at his father’s right hand? Or was he now at Alpha Hale’s? Squaring his shoulders, he decided to compromise, coming to stand between his dad and his husband. As soon as he took his position, his dad clapped Stiles’ back with a force that had Stiles straining not to stumble forward.

“Good morning, son,” the Chief said happily, his eyes bright as they lifted from the map to settle on Stiles.

“Morning,” Stiles managed, offering his dad a weak smile in return, a blush creeping up high on his cheeks. His dad probably thought he was a _man_ now, having consummated his marriage last night with the Alpha. Wouldn’t he be surprised if he ever learned the _lack_ of consummating that had occurred.

Mentally shaking himself, Stiles decided to change topics. He never wanted to entertain the idea of his father thinking of his sex life. That was just…

“Why didn’t anyone let me know we were meeting?” Despite trying to make it light, there was a hint of accusation in the words.

The Chief clapped Stiles’ back once again. A squeeze to Stiles’ shoulder had him looking at his father. As much as there was a smile still on his face, there was a somberness there as well – a silent question in his eye; a question of whether Stiles was alright.

When Stiles nodded a subtle affirmation, his dad let it drop.

“Derek and I thought it might be best to let you sleep. He said you didn’t get much last night,” the Chief said, giving Stiles a wink. Stiles coughed on nothing, eyes growing wide in mortification that his father thought they had been up all night celebrating their marriage. And wait, hold on … _Derek_?!? When had his dad gotten on a first name basis with _Stiles’_ husband? _He_ hadn’t even gotten on a first name basis with his husband!

Stiles could feel his whole face growing hot. How was this seriously happening right now?

Clearing his throat, Stiles ducked his head, refusing to make eye contact with anyone in the tent. He had felt like a failure, having the night they had, and now with his dad’s freaking _glee_ shining through, as if Stiles’ and the Alpha’s bond was … was … Stiles didn’t even know – joyful? Complete? It just made Stiles feel like a fraud – an even bigger failure.

Swallowing back his sorrow at such a disaster, and deliberately ignoring the Alpha’s heavy gaze on him, Stiles forged ahead.

“What did I miss?” Stiles mumbled, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

“Not much,” the Chief responded, focusing back on the map. “We’re going to send one of our messengers, along with an escort from Derek’s pack, to notify this pack from the north that we’re not going to surrender. If they want a battle, they’ll have one.”

Argent pointed to a section of the drawing, a narrow valley two mountain ranges away.

“They’re rumoured to be camping around this valley, with reports of one hundred wolves,” Argent supplied. The valley he was referring to was a good fortnight’s travel. They’d be waiting on any answer for a while.

“While we wait for the message to be delivered, and for a response, we’ll go back to the pack and start readying them for battle,” the Alpha said.

Stiles bit his lip, crossing one arm over his chest as he brought the other hand up to his mouth to chew on his thumb nail. He knew the “ _we”_ most likely included him as well, based on yesterday’s negotiations that is. It was expected Stiles would go back with the werewolves so that he and the Alpha could work on their _bond._

What did that even mean? Was it something more than a marriage?

“Who knows,” the Chief added gently when he noticed his son’s nervous habit from when he was a toddler, “you may even get to learn more about this spark you carry. Maybe get a chance to talk a little about the merger of the two groups.”

Stiles simply nodded, forcing a small smile on his face to pacify his father.

Because it would be nothing to go with these strangers, to a strange place, where there were more strangers. Add to that trying to fit in to a new community, the responsibility of merging two groups, preparing for a battle, learning to be a mage … spark … thing, and pulling off a successful relationship with his husband who he hadn’t even had a conversation with yet.

It would be simple, surely.

“Pack light,” the Alpha stated, throwing the words out without addressing Stiles directly. “We’ll leave by midday.” Without waiting for a response, the Alpha turned and left the tent, pulling a frown from Stiles. He could see a trend starting. His chest clenched painfully in disappointment.

Stiles placed his hands on the table, sucking in a shaky breath. He was leaving his tribe today, the only people he had known growing up. He was leaving his home, his family, his future, and possibly his manhood behind. And the person responsible for it all didn’t even seem to care.

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

 

“I mean, you’ll get to come back and visit us, right?” Scott asked, his hand raking through his hair in agitation.

“Probably not, Scott,” Stiles said, slipping by him and grabbing his satchel so he could start packing. He hadn’t been surprised when he arrived back at his own tent and his friends were already in there waiting for him.

Scott, Allison, Lydia and Jackson’s somber faces weren’t going to make any of this easier. Well, Jackson’s expression was more bored than somber. Stiles suspected that Lydia had made him come, which was no skin off Stiles’ nose, really. He and Jackson had never gotten along, even since they were infants. Stiles had been secretly dreading the day when Jackson would take Argent’s place and become the top warrior of the pack. The only relief he had was that it was Lydia who would be taking the part of Whittemore as lead negotiator for their generation. With Lydia, they would have a healthy balance in the council.

“Not until the threat of this pack from the north is dealt with,” Stiles continued, grabbing his father’s hunting knife – a coming of age gift – and sliding it into the satchel.

“Well, we’ll come visit you then,” Scott replied, crossing his arms over his chest. He followed Stiles’ movement as he made his way back over to his bed and opened the chest beside it.

“You’ll be needed here, to get ready for the battle,” Stiles responded, searching the chest thoughtfully before diving in and carefully scooping up his prize. It was the eagle feather Scott had given him the day they had become friends at four years of age.

“Yeah, like making weapons. You know, your job?” Jackson said from the entrance way where he was leaning on a post.

“Oh hush,” Lydia told Jackson before coming to kneel next to Stiles. She reached into the chest and pulled out the reflective stone she had given Stiles for his birthday last year. Stiles smiled at her in thanks. He definitely wanted to bring that to remember her by.

A heavy sigh had Stiles and Lydia looking back up at Scott, who only deflated a little when their eyes landed on him. Stiles offered a small smile to his best friend, his heart hanging heavily in his chest. As much as it was going to hurt to leave his tribe and friends, he knew it wasn’t going to be easy for them either. As their future leader, Stiles needed to be the strong one.

Standing back up, Stiles made his way over to Scott, grasping his shoulder tightly.

“There will be so much to do you’ll barely notice I’m gone,” Stiles said, forcing a brighter smile at his gloomy friend. “And before you know it, this danger will pass and we’ll all be together again – pack and tribe.”

“Yeah,” Jackson snorted snidely, “and Stilinski here will be popping out cubs and Hale will be Chief.”

Stiles whipped around, eyes bugging out at that simple sentence. He quickly tried to rein in the anger, betrayal and embarrassment flashing across his features. That had been a _private_ negotiating session – with none of the more … sensitive … details released yet. Particularly those regarding Stiles being a mage and being expected to bear the Alpha’s children. That fucking Whittemore...

“You _will_ maintain order,” Stiles hissed. Stiles knew Jackson was pressing him, testing him on what he would do – challenging the order of rank. If he hadn’t been doing it all their lives, Stiles would’ve wondered if it was just because of his new role to the Alpha. “Details of _private_ negotiations will not be discussed until the Chief announces it. You _know_ better.”

“And they’re pups, by the way,” Lydia interjected, rising and looking at her nails, “not cubs.” There was a disinterest to her tone that had Stiles’ stomach tumbling with dread. Why was she not freaking out over what Jackson had just divulged? Why wasn’t _anyone_ freaking out over what Jackson had just divulged?

“And Hale is an Alpha. He’ll never let himself be called _Chief,_ ” Allison supplied as well.

“What?” Stiles shrieked, looking agape at all his friends. Even Scott didn’t seem surprised by any of this. “You _know?!?”_

“Of course we know, stop looking so surprised,” Lydia said, going over to stand next to Jackson.

“You’re not supposed to know,” Stiles practically grit out through his teeth, “and if any of you had a lick of sense or self-preservation you would’ve kept it to yourselves. You know divulging Council information is punishable!”

“As if you’d do anything,” Jackson sneered, waving a hand dismissively.

“Don’t push me, Jackson!” Stiles hollered, pointing a finger at the warrior.

“Stiles,” Allison called, placing herself between the two. “He may have told Lydia, but I told Scott,” Allison said gently. Stiles could feel his eyebrows twitching downward, suddenly feeling like a fool. Apparently there were no secrets between family – or friends for that matter – of those that were on Council. And if Scott and Lydia knew, how many else in the tribe knew? What were they all going to think?

Stiles’ face flamed at the thought of the whole tribe now knowing what he had become. He knew it was eventually going to come out, but he wasn’t ready for it yet. He wasn’t ready to feel that level of humiliation, to see everyone look at him as Jackson just had – with a hint of disgust, of disdain. How could he lead if they no longer respected him?

“Stiles … Stiles!” Scott’s voice shouted, piercing through his thoughts. “Breathe!”

Stiles’ eyes searched for Scott’s as his vision blurred, his limbs feeling heavy and tingly from not enough oxygen as his chest clamped down like a vice. _No … not another spell of panic._ He hadn’t had one since the year his mom had died. He thought he had grown out of them.

“How many?” Stiles wheezed out.

“How many what?” Scott asked, fear and panic reflecting back to Stiles.

“How many know?” Stiles gasped, holding onto Scott as he tried to fight the attack.

“No one. Just us,” Scott replied, pulling Stiles closer. He was met with resistance at first, but after only a moment Stiles allowed Scott to fold him in close. “Just us,” Scott repeated, patting Stiles’ back reassuringly.

When Stiles’ questioning eyes bore into Scott, demanding assurance, Scott squeezed his shoulder. “I swear, only us.” At those words, the grip on Stiles’ chest loosened, and he was able to pull in an actual breath. The sense of relief only lasted a second though …

“And that’s our future leader, everybody,” Jackson said dryly, clapping his hands in mock applause, “as scared and insecure as ever.”

Scott was no warrior, but he rounded on Jackson so fast even Jackson was surprised.

“Show some fucking respect, would you?” Scott spit, shoving Jackson back.

Jackson’s lax stance changed quickly to something aggressive and defensive all at once.

“Not likely,” Jackson ground out, coming to stand nose-to-nose with Scott. “He’s practically a woman for fuck’s sake. He’s no leader, letting Hale do that to him.”

Stiles covered his eyes with his hands, his face flaming in shame, his exact fears coming to life with Jackson’s words. They were going to strip him of his title.

Scott tried for a punch, but Jackson easily dodged it.

“Stop it! Both of you,” Allison shouted, pushing her way between the two before addressing Jackson. “Yeah well your future leader here saved your ass. He saved mine and probably Lydia’s as well.”

“What are you talking about?” Jackson scoffed, disbelief coloring his features.

“Maybe your dad left this part out, but apparently Chief Stilinski was offering up other high ranking tribe families as a potential mate for Hale, which could’ve included me or Lydia,” Allison said, motioning between her and Lydia with a finger.

“So? When they found out he was a mage, he was number one choice,” Jackson said.

“So? So if he’s a mage and could bend reality, he could’ve offered _you_ up and made it so that you could’ve had Hale’s pups.”

“No way, Chief Stilinski offered Stiles–”

“And you want to bet that if Stiles had _begged_ his dad not to be mated, he wouldn’t have conceded? It was self-sacrificing – the trait of a true leader.”

Stiles slowly found himself lowering his hands, watching the altercation warily. He knew there was little ground to what Allison was saying. Stiles would’ve _never_ defied his dad so out rightly, and would’ve never offered one of his _friends_ to the wolves … okay maybe Jackson. No – not even Jackson. And he didn’t even know if his magic could work that way on someone else. But he appreciated her intent. He appreciated her sticking up for him.

“Whatever,” Jackson admonished, throwing his hands up and scowling one more time at Stiles. “Good riddance,” he hissed before leaving the tent. The silence that fell upon them then felt tight with an undertone of shock. They all knew Jackson thought he should be the leader, but he rarely was so blatant and harsh about it.

Stiles swallowed thickly, rubbing the back of his neck in agitation. So, his friends knew. Now what?

“He can be such an idiot sometimes,” Lydia said, shaking her head and making her way over to where Allison and Scott were standing, looking at Stiles.

“Sometimes?” Scott asked scornfully.

“Hey,” Allison called gently. It took Stiles a second to realize she wasn’t addressing Scott, but when he did, he allowed his eyes to hesitantly meet hers. “No matter what, you’re still our leader. You’re still our future Chief.”

The words hit Stiles like a punch to the gut. It felt like all the emotions from yesterday and today just hit him in one, giant tidal wave, crashing over him and pulling him under. Quickly, his vision blurred and his throat ached with emotion, tears spilling over his cheeks as he held back the sob that so desperately wanted to come out. Someone still believed in him, despite knowing the truth.

“No matter what,” Scott agreed, falling to his knees and touching his head to the dirt – their people’s deepest sign of respect, usually displayed only to the current chief.

“Scott,” Stiles whispered, honoured by the gesture.

“No matter what,” Allison repeated, gracefully kneeling to do the same. Stiles’ eyes widened in surprise. It was one thing for his best friend to do that, but for Allison to, it meant even more somehow.

“No matter what,” Lydia whispered as well, her eyes conveying her conviction as she, too, knelt and dipped her head to the ground.

Stiles hiccupped back his tears, wiping at them furiously as he took in his three friends before him. He had always known that they were his closest allies, but Jackson was right; there was always some level of insecurity in him that had him questioning whether he was worthy to be their next leader. Having them display their level of loyalty like this … well it gave him just a little more hope and assurance that he could do it. That he may be worthy.

“Thanks, you guys,” Stiles choked out, dropping to his knees and pulling them all into a hug.

He would prove to them that he was worthy.

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

 

Most of the tribe had come out to see Stiles and their visitors off. It was tradition to have a formal send-off when marrying a member of the tribe off to another. While Stiles would be reunited with his tribe, it was still a temporary send-off, and one they weren’t going to miss for their Chief-to-be.

There was nothing but smiles and well wishes for them, the energy of the crowd light with excitement and good cheer. Even some of the younger children were throwing flowers in the air, a romantic customary gesture. It made Stiles’ stomach flip. None of this felt romantic.

“I’m proud of you, son,” the Chief said quietly into Stiles’ ear as he pulled him into a tight, one armed hug once they got to the edge of the community. Stiles had learned how to maneuver gracefully around the large staff years ago. It was practically an extension of his father.

Stiles scoffed, “Dad, I haven’t done anything yet.” He might have been holding on a little tighter to his dad than a mere hug would warrant, but at that point, he didn’t care. As much as he knew he must go, he didn’t want to. He had never been separated from his whole tribe before. The notion of it was terrifying.

“You’ve handled this whole thing so well, like a true man leading his people,” the Chief stated, pulling back from the hug so he could look at his son. “I know this isn’t easy, but you’re making the best out of what could be a difficult situation. I know with you leading us through it, the merger will go smoothly. There’s no one better for the job.”

Stiles could feel a lump forming in his throat. His dad had never been low on encouragement, but those words meant a lot. He felt better knowing his dad stood behind him.

“Thanks, Dad,” Stiles whispered, squeezing the Chief’s forearm one more time before letting go and turning towards his party, one hand going to ensure the satchel that hung across his chest was secure. After his hug-out with his three friends in the tent, he hadn’t had much time to add his remaining items before he had been called upon to be ready.

The three men who had entered their community as guests were standing at a close distance, waiting patiently for him at the edge of the forest.

Well, Deaton was waiting patiently. The Alpha still had his brows furrowed, which Stiles was coming to know as his normal expression, as opposed to being actually angry. However Peter was clearly impatient, arms crossed with a frustrated expression painted on his features.

“Where are the horses?” Stiles asked, looking around while taking a few steps towards the group.

“We don’t travel with horses,” the Alpha replied. “They fear us. You and Deaton will ride with me and Peter. It will be faster than travelling on foot.”

“Ride with you?” Stiles asked, clearly confused.

The Alpha raised an eyebrow, as if he questioned Stiles’ sincerity and smarts. Taking a step towards Stiles, the Alpha’s form shifted suddenly, quickly. Flesh and hair turned quickly to fur, clothes shredding into tattered pieces, the transformation ending with the Alpha on all fours in front of Stiles. He was a full on _wolf._

There were gasps and cries from the tribe, which turned to whispered murmurs of disbelief. The stories were _true,_ which had Stiles wondering if the transformation was true, what else from those childhood stories could be true?

The Alpha wasn’t just a normal wolf, he was a _massive_ wolf. His head was nearly the same height as Stiles’, his back coming up well past Stiles’ waist. The black fur looked thick and coarse, his shoulders wide and broad. It was his eyes, though, that held Stiles captive, his eyes were the same glowing red. It took everything in Stiles’ being not to take a step back from the predator before him. His _husband._

Stiles found himself snapping his jaw shut when he realized his mouth was gaping open.

The Alpha swished his tail impatiently, snorting out a breath as he came to stand in front of Stiles.

“It’ll be fine,” the Chief whispered into Stiles’ ear while ushering him closer to the wolf. “Up you go, now.”

Stiles looked over his shoulder at his father, eyes relaying his fear and trepidation. He couldn’t ride a _wolf._ Especially not the man … wolf, rather … that had caused such him such discomfort and humiliation. It was too intimate, wasn’t it? It would be completely different than riding a horse.

When Stiles’ focus fell over his father’s shoulder, though, settling on Scott, Allison and Lydia standing at the front of the tribe, he remembered why he was doing this. He could do this, for them.

With trembling hands, Stiles reached out for the scruff of the Alpha’s fur. The fur was softer than it looked, but was just as thick. It had Stiles relaxing slightly, enough to compose himself as he carefully clambered up onto the Alpha’s back.

“You take care of him, now,” the Chief said. It took a second for Stiles to realize he was addressing the Alpha, not Stiles.

The Alpha dipped his head in response, sauntering back over towards the trees.

Stiles looked over to Deaton, surprised to see he, too, was now astride a wolf. Stiles had been so caught up with the Alpha’s transformation and his own hesitation that he hadn’t even noticed when Peter had transformed. Where the Alpha was pure black, Peter had a dark brown coat, and was only slightly smaller than the Alpha.

Stiles looked to where Deaton was holding on to Peter, as he wasn’t sure how to hold onto a wolf, and he was willing to bet the Alpha wouldn’t appreciate him pulling his fur. But Deaton was doing exactly as Stiles was, holding tightly to the scruff of Peter’s coat.

The Alpha looked up over his shoulder at Stiles for a moment, as if to confirm he was still there, before taking off at a gentle lope, probably to allow Stiles to get the feel of his gait before they started to move at a travelling pace.

Stiles held on tightly, leaning forward slightly so he could hold onto the Alpha’s back more with his thighs, a blush gracing his cheeks at the intimacy of having his husband between his legs, regardless of the circumstance.

Before they disappeared into the treeline, Stiles made sure to glance back at his tribe despite being unable to wave with the death grip he had on the Alpha. As he watched his dad, Scott, Allison, Lydia and the rest of the tribe wave, he choked back his emotion. He could do this. He had to do this. He’d see them all again, and soon.

He was so caught up in his own despair that he didn’t recognize the quiet whimpering coming from beneath him.

 

The trip itself was surprisingly short while astride the Alpha. It was all uphill though, which Stiles knew would’ve taken his human legs a lot longer to travel than the powerful stride of the wolves. When they crossed the boundary of the treaty, Stiles felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It felt wrong to pass it, even if he was meant to – allowed to. With so many years of training engrained into him to _never_ cross the boundary, it just felt wrong.

It was still late morning when they emerged from dense forest into more of an opening. They had climbed quite a bit. The air was thinner and colder than down in the valley. There were trees sporadically located throughout the clearing with wood cabins tucked strategically away beneath their thick trunks and branches.

As they made their way into the community, Stiles was surprised with how developed the whole thing was. The cabins were solid and well built, with larger buildings closer to the middle of the community, probably for large families or gatherings. There were pathways joining everything and werewolves walking along them in human form with intricate clothing. Stiles wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t something so structured.

What was just as much of a surprise was the difference between the exuberant send off from his tribe, and the lack of any form of welcome from the Hale Pack. There was no welcoming party, there was no happiness – more of the opposite really. Stiles was met with a mixture of curious and suspicious stares as their party loped down the paths of the community – going where, Stiles wasn’t sure. He even got the occasional snarl and growl, which was answered in turn by the Alpha while they maintained their pace and continued further into the cabin-ridden forest.

On more than one occasion Stiles found himself pulling his legs higher up in case someone tried to nip at him. Luckily it didn’t have to come to that. The message was clear though – Stiles was a stranger; an unwelcome one.

Their journey finally came to an end closer to the back of the community. There was a cabin the same size as the rest, with no identifying features on it. There were two wolves in human form standing on either side of the entrance, both blond, one male and one female. They looked rather young to tell you the truth, late teens, early twenties at the most. Stiles was surprised to find guards at what he presumed was the Alpha’s door. Wasn’t the Alpha the strongest of the pack? Why would he need guards?

When the realization that these silent, unfriendly sentinels were most likely not for the Alpha, and more likely for _Stiles_ , a sense of dread washed over him.

As the Alpha strode right up to the door, Stiles looked back, surprised to find Peter and Deaton were no longer behind them. Neither of the guards made any sign of acknowledgement as they approached and the Alpha nudged the door open.

It took a moment for Stiles’ eyes to adjust from mid-daylight to the dark interior of the cabin. It was a single room, simple in its decorating. Directly across from the entrance there was a vacant fireplace with a large rug and sitting area with two comfy chairs before it. On the end wall to the left, there was a bed, bedtable and chest, with a tub nestled into the corner. On the end wall to the right was a large dining table, void of anything other than a pitcher and some cups. That was it. There was no storage, no books, no papers, no knick-knacks or trinkets, nothing to personalize or warm the space at all, a glaring difference from Stiles’ homey tent back with his tribe.

As the Alpha came to a halt, Stiles started, realizing there was no reason to stay astride the massive wolf any longer. Carefully, he climbed off him, holding on for a brief second until his riding legs felt stable beneath him. Silently, the Alpha moved to the chest at the end of the bed before beginning his transformation back to human form. After a moment of watching in awed horror, Stiles turned, a blush high on his cheeks from catching a glimpse of the Alpha’s nude human form.

Instead, to distract himself, Stiles took off his satchel, allowing it to rest in one of the sitting chairs in front of the fireplace. He allowed his eyes to drift around the room, desperate to ignore the nude form behind him.

“Do you need anything?”

The Alpha’s cold tone broke the silence, causing Stiles to jumping slightly as the Alpha came into his peripheral vision. He was thankfully doing up the drawstring of his pants. His chest was bare, his shirt slung over one shoulder, but at least his lower half was covered.

“No,” Stiles replied, “I’m fine, thank you.”

The Alpha stared hard at Stiles for a moment, making Stiles want to wilt from the scrutiny, but he resisted. He needed to show that outside of the bedroom he wasn’t going to take a submissive role.

“There are two guards outside who will bring you anything if you change your mind,” the Alpha said, pulling the shirt over his head. “You are not permitted to leave this cabin. Deaton will be by in a little while to start your training.”

“What?” Stiles asked, brow furrowing as he processed the Alpha’s words. “What do you mean not permitted? For how long?”

“Until it’s deemed safe,” was the Alpha’s response as he made his way to the table and poured himself some water from the pitcher.

“Safe?” Stiles queried, watching his movements. “Safe from what?”

“It’s none of your concern. Not yet at least,” the Alpha said, setting his cup back on the table before making his way to the door.

Stiles frowned deeper. Did this have to do with them needing a strong relationship? Was it unsafe for them, even now? Did they not get a courting period or trial period to allow their relationship to grow?

“Wait,” Stiles blurted as the Alpha opened the door. The Alpha stopped, a look of annoyance flitting across his features before his eyes settled on Stiles. “How can we think about merging Pack and Tribe if I don’t get to learn about the Pack?”

The Alpha’s eyes narrowed, face hardening.

“You will not leave this cabin,” the Alpha said firmly, pointing to the dirt floor while his eyes flared to their supernatural red. “That’s an order,” he bit out before leaving the cabin, the slamming of the door causing Stiles to flinch.

 _Seriously? An order?_ Stiles fumed. Who did he think he was ordering Stiles around like that? You don’t _order_ your husband around!

Letting out a frustrated huff, Stiles scrubbed his face, trying to allow the frustration to bleed out of him. It wouldn’t do him any good to get worked up.

When he let his hands fall, the silence of the cabin crept up on him. It was so strange. For the last twenty four hours Stiles had felt he had been in nothing but a whirlwind; the negotiations leading so quickly into his marriage, then the dinner and preparations, the events of last night and this morning, only quickly changing to packing and leaving. Then just like that, arriving here, standing alone in the silence of this cabin, it felt like everything had just stopped. The whirlwind had just stopped. And as no sound penetrated the cabin, and nothing moved, it felt like time had stopped right along with it. It felt surreal.

There wasn’t much at all to do in the cabin. After Stiles had gotten a drink of water, unpacked his satchel, placed his items along the mantel of the fireplace, and checked the contents of the chest out (nothing but clothes and blankets), he was officially bored.

Deaton found him sitting in one of the chairs, whittling away at a piece of firewood, when he walked in a couple hours later. Stiles found himself shielding his eyes from the bright light as Deaton entered.

“Stiles,” Deaton greeted, coming in and putting a large bag down next to the fireplace. “What are you doing sitting alone here in the dark?”

Stiles found himself fighting to keep any bitterness out of his tone when he spoke. It wasn’t Deaton who had restricted him to the cabin after all. He was actually glad to see the other man, he was the only one Stiles was comfortable with in the pack.

“Well, Alpha Hale told me I was not permitted to leave the cabin,” Stiles said slowly, “and I don’t have the tools to build a fire.” Stiles held up the piece of wood he had been carving into. It had a pointed end, and was over a hand-span long, clearly to use against another piece of wood to create fire. “So I’m making them.”

“Well, you won’t have to do that for much longer,” Deaton said, coming to sit in the other chair across from Stiles. “After some training, your spark will allow you to create a flame all on your own.”

Stiles pushed aside the resentment he had for this _spark_ , the thing that had gotten him into this mess and would allow him to bear Alpha Hale’s children, because, well, in all honesty, creating fire on his own did sound pretty neat. Stiles leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he allowed the wood and knife to hanging loosely between his legs.

“So what exactly is this spark?” Stiles asked, one eyebrow lifting. He had heard stories of magic and mages, but had never seen any of it personally. “And how do you know I have it?”

Deaton smiled patiently, folding his hands together across his chest.

“As a druid, I can see your spark as easily in you as you can see Derek’s eyes when they flare red. It’s a fundamental part of your being, and to certain supernatural creatures, like myself, it’s very obvious. In time I can teach you how to hide it, but that’s much farther down the road. First, we need to start with the fundamentals.”

“Yeah, like what it is,” Stiles said, waving the wood absently as he spoke.

“A spark,” Deaton said, “is the same to magic as it is to fire. It’s a trigger, a flash start. Many mages have to learn to bend nature’s laws and elements, and harness the energy of the earth in order to perform their magic. It limits them in the type of magic they can perform; they’re restricted to natures’ rules. A spark, however, can create magic from within themselves – from their own energy. And because of that, because they’re not harnessing power from something else, they’re not bound by its restrictions. A spark can literally create something out of nothing. It’s the most powerful of all magic – limitless – and as such, should not be taken lightly.”

“It sounds dangerous,” Stiles said, his mind whirling with possibilities, both the good and the bad.

“It is, especially in the hands of someone with ill intentions or lack of control. You have to respect its ability, and all of its potential, because if you don’t, you may find yourself in circumstances you don’t necessarily mean to be in.”

Stiles nodded, feeling the weight of the responsibility resting firmly on his shoulders already. But he had been raised to be responsible; he knew he could handle the weight.

“Warning heeded.” Stiles nodded.

“Alright then, let’s start with something simple, shall we?” Deaton asked, leaning over and rummaging in the bag he had set aside earlier. Not even a second later he was pulling out a much smaller bag and holding it out to Stiles.

The bag was no larger than Stiles’ palm, and was fairly light.

“What is it?” Stiles asked, weighing the bag in his hand.

“Mountain Ash,” Deaton responded. “It’s said to ward against the supernatural. It can make a powerful barrier that the supernatural cannot pass if created as a closed loop. But you can’t simply draw a circle with it and have the barrier activated. It needs a spark to activate it – to ignite it.”

“Okay,” Stiles said warily, pulling the twine holding the round little bag together at the top. “How do I ignite it?”

“The key to unlocking the spark inside of you is hinged on one thing,” Deaton said, pausing to ensure he had Stiles’ attention. When Stiles looked up, he continued, “Belief.”

“Belief,” Stiles repeated, uncertainty in his tone.

“In order for your magic to work, you have to believe it will work. You need to set your task in your mind, and through your force of will, extraordinary things can happen.”

A smile tugged at Stiles’ lips.

“That sounds a lot like stubbornness to me.”

“It’s the intensity of your desire, your will, your belief, that will ignite your magic – your spark,” Deaton said, plucking the little bag out of Stiles’ hand. Pouring the contents of the bag in a small circle on the rug, Deaton nodded to it. “Now, picture in your mind that the ash is a barrier and can ward off the supernatural. Will it to be there.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow, looking from the ash to Deaton.

“Just think it?” Stiles asked disbelievingly.

“Will it to be so,” Deaton said.

Stiles looked back at the black circle of dust on the rug. He frowned, trying to concentrate on the black dust becoming a barrier. After a few seconds he looked back up at Deaton questioningly.

“Did it work?” Stiles asked.

Deaton frowned, shaking his head.

“Try again.”

So Stiles did, again, and again and again and again before throwing his hands up in frustration.

“It’s not going to work!” Stiles insisted.

“That’s why it’s not working,” Deaton replied. “You’re doubting yourself.”

Stiles huffed. Of course he doubted himself. He doubted this whole thing. How was it possible that he could just _will_ something to happen? That’s not how the world worked! If it was, Stiles would be the first to will away this threatening pack from the north, and will himself back to his tribe – no marriage, no Alpha werewolf.

“Take some time to think about what I’ve said, and keep practicing,” Deaton said, rising from his chair. He took out two other small bags, just like the first, before tossing them at Stiles, who easily caught them both.

“More Mountain Ash?” Stiles queried.

“One of them is,” Deaton confirmed. “The other contains the herbs I gave you last night.”

Stiles dipped his head, his cheeks warming. He desperately didn’t want to think about _that._

“How will I know if it worked?” Stiles asked, steering the conversation away from that topic while gesturing to the circle on the rug. “Will it glow or something?”

“No, you probably won’t know. Have Derek test it, he wouldn’t be able to pass over the circle if you were successful.”

The way Deaton left him is the way the Alpha found him a couple hours later. Stiles had moved down off the chair onto the rug itself, staring at the Mountain Ash, willing it to become a barrier. He was grateful of the break in concentration actually, and that there was a supernatural creature he could test his work on.

Looking up at the Alpha, Stiles was surprised to find him carrying in a platter of something. Stiles suddenly realized how hungry he was, having only eaten breakfast that morning and very little of it. Standing up, Stiles brushed his bottom, making his way slowly over to the table where the Alpha had set down the plate.

“Alpha Hale,” Stiles nodded in greeting when the Alpha glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Stiles cringed slightly on the inside. He still wasn’t sure what was customary. He wasn’t sure how to address his husband, or talk to him, or act around him.

“No need for titles. Derek is fine,” the Alpha – Derek – said, pouring some water into two cups.

“Right,” Stiles responded, fingers tapping uncomfortably on top of the table, unsure of what to do. Eying the platter, Stiles was a little surprised to find meat on it – raw meat.

“Do you like deer?” Derek asked, watching Stiles’ reaction.

“Hmmm? Yes, I …” Stiles started before trailing off. Would it be rude if he asked whether werewolves cooked their meat? Derek had eaten the cooked meat at the feast the previous night. Had he just been polite, or was that normal for them?

“Then what’s the problem?” Derek asked, eyebrow quirking.

“Do we …” Stiles said, hesitating again before powering through, “cook it?”

“We can,” Derek responded slowly, before turning and making his way over to the fireplace. With supernatural speed Derek had a fire created from wood splinters in no time. A lot faster that it would’ve taken Stiles to finish his tools and do it.

Stiles hovered by the table awkwardly as Derek cooked the meat, taking sips of his water while trying to keep from staring at Derek. He wanted to ask the Alpha to try and swipe his hand over the Mountain Ash circle, but didn’t feel comfortable enough to just throw that out there yet. When Derek made his way back over with the cooked meat, he stepped directly over the circle with no problem, causing Stiles to slump slightly in defeat.

So it still hadn’t worked, then.

Setting half of the meat in front of Stiles, Derek motioned for him to sit down before taking a seat adjacent from him. Stiles did so, looking down at what was provided before looking back up at Derek, who was watching him expectantly.

“Eat,” Derek said, clearly annoyed.

So Stiles jumped to it, picking up a big chunk of meat and tearing a piece off. It was good, not seasoned or smoked, but it did the job just fine. Once Derek had watched Stiles take a couple bites, he started on his dinner as well. Stiles wondered if it was normal not to have anything else but meat at dinner, but didn’t want to offend the Alpha by asking.

Stiles found himself full only after eating half of what Derek had given him, offering the rest to the Alpha.

“Was it not to your satisfaction?” Derek asked grumpily.

“No, not at all. It was good. Just, more than I normally eat,” Stiles said, finishing the contents of his cup. No matter what Stiles did or said, he always felt like it was the wrong thing. Gnawing on his lip, he pushed the meat towards Derek, who looked at it in distain before pushing his meat away as well.

“Come here, then,” Derek said while leaning back in his chair and gesturing to his lap.

“Pardon?” Stiles questioned meekly, the meat turning sickly in his stomach at the mere thought of why Derek would bid him over. Because, what other reason could there be? As much as their copulating – or lack thereof – had been at the back of his mind all day, he didn’t think it needed to be addressed with the Alpha until it was time to sleep. And this? Them still sitting there at the dinner table? It most definitely wasn’t that time!

Instead of answering, however, Derek simply leaned over and grasped Stiles’ wrist, physically pulling Stiles to him. Stiles had no choice but to go, because it was either get up and move around the corner of the table, or be pulled across it.

When Derek tugged Stiles down onto his lap, wrapping his other arm around Stiles’ back to pull him close and position Stiles so he was straddling him, Stiles placed a hand firmly on Derek’s chest, trying to push away.

“Alpha Ha – Derek, wait,” Stiles said, trying to sound strong, but it came out closer to a shriek when he felt the hardness of Derek’s arousal beneath him. There was definitely no doubt to any intentions now, and Stiles wasn’t going to have the same experience as last night, or this morning – not if he could help it. They just needed to talk this out.

When Stiles looked up at Derek to put a stop to this behaviour, he was met with red eyes and a huff that blew hot across Stiles’ face, causing the words to catch in his throat. Deaton’s warning from last night rang in his ears and had Stiles averting his eyes immediately.

“Whatever this insecurity is that you have, you’ll have to work through it, and quickly,” Derek growled out, letting go of Stiles’ wrist to pull at the drawstring of Stiles’ pants. Stiles reached down, trying to pry the Alpha’s hand away but it didn’t deter his efforts in the least. Stiles couldn’t even move Derek’s wrist an inch. The realization had Stiles’ stomach turning even more sour as his chest tightened. He felt so inconsequential against this predator.

“I know Deaton told you of the importance of an Alpha pair’s relationship,” Derek continued, successfully unravelling the drawstring, “and how it needs to be healthy.”

 _Healthy?!?_ Stiles’ mind screamed. This was _not_ healthy. But as Stiles opened his mouth to voice such, Derek’s hand slipped inside his pants and grasped Stiles’ still very flaccid penis, causing Stiles to choke on his words.

“The full moon is in two nights,” Derek said, his voice turning even growlier if possible. “You’ll have to figure it out by then.”

Then, much to Stiles’ indignity, Derek started firmly pulling on Stiles’ cock, probably to try and entice arousal. Stiles yelped, trying to turn his hips away, but with Derek’s strong hold it was no use.

Derek was going to have no success, however. It did _not_ feel good, and only had Stiles writhing in utter mortification, feeling absolutely nauseated.

“You’ll need to learn how to use this, too,” Derek muttered with one final pull before extracting his hand from Stiles’ pants completely.

Stiles recoiled from the words as if they had been a physical blow, his embarrassment turning to outrage in a split second. He knew how to use his cock, thank-you-very-much. If _Derek_ would just back off on the intensity of intimidation, humiliation and manhandling, maybe Stiles would have a chance. Maybe _they_ would have a chance.

But Stiles didn’t get to voice that either as Derek rose from the chair, easily lifting Stiles with him, causing Stiles to flail and squawk. In one graceful move, Derek set Stiles down on his feet and spun him around before pressing him chest-down onto the table and dropping Stiles’ pants. Stiles was left reeling, cheek planted firmly against the table, bared once again to his husband.

“Derek,” Stiles stated firmly, pushing against the table. _Not like this! They needed to talk first!_

A wide hand between his shoulder blades had him pinned, though.

“Be still,” Derek hissed, his hand running smoothly down to rest at the small of Stiles’ back.

“Wait!” Stiles shouted, again trying to push himself up and off the table. _He was going to listen, dammit!_

“I said be still!” Derek growled back, the power of his voice rattling Stiles’ bones. Stiles whimpered as he was once again pressed back down onto the table, his body trembling at the severity of the situation. He didn’t get a say. This was his life now. He had been married off to an Alpha werewolf to save his people, and if he wasn’t careful, all of it could go horribly, horribly wrong.

He needed to put this into perspective with the whole grand scheme of things. Sex with the Alpha was better than being sold, enslaved or killed. It was better than his people getting slaughtered by this pack from the north. It may even be better than the disgrace that would fall to him if he didn’t uphold his father’s word.

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

When Stiles once again felt Derek’s release spray across his lower back, he tucked his eyes into his forearm, trying to breathe deeply as he fought back his emotions. As Derek’s large hand once again smeared his ejaculate over Stiles’ lower back and butt, Stiles bit his lip, wondering why Derek didn’t just take him … why instead he chose to play this game and paint him. As much as this was now his life, he at least deserved some answers.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked quietly, eyes still closed and pressed tightly against his forearm resting on the table. He jumped, the table cutting painfully into his hips as Derek’s finger that had been rubbing his release between Stiles’ cheeks actually penetrated his entrance. It was the first time Derek had gone that far.

Stiles hissed, more from the pain from the table biting into his hips than from the finger inside of him. The breach felt more weird and uncomfortable than painful. Then, as quickly as it had been there, it was gone.

“I’m ensuring you smell like you belong to me,” Derek said, voice now more placated, but still firm. The edge of possessiveness in his tone said more than the actual words, though. So Stiles had been right, it was a territorial thing. Lovely.

As Derek’s ministrations slowed, then stopped altogether, Stiles found himself continuing to lay on the table, refusing to move. Somewhere in his mind whispered that if he didn’t move, he wouldn’t have to deal with it. If he just lay there and fell asleep, it could all just fade from his mind.

But then, of course, strong hands were hauling him up from the table and ushering him towards the bed. Stiles went along, eyes staying dutifully away from Derek, pride and ego damaged.

 _Get a grip._ Stiles told himself. _If you can’t handle this, how are you going to have his children?_

As Derek situated them in bed, again positioning Stiles so he was the little spoon, Stiles grabbed a pillow, pulling it to his chest. He needed something to hold on to, his hold on the pillow mirroring the hold his mind had on his emotions. He needed to hold it together tightly, reining in anything that strayed. He could do this, he just had to hold it together.

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

 

The sensation of a hand around his throat had Stiles surfacing from sleep stark and fast. With a startled gasp, Stiles’ eyes flew open as his hands soared up, grasping the wrist of the person who had him by the neck.

“Relax,” came a deep rumble to his right. Stiles’ eyes frantically searched for the owner, trying to put together what was happening. The panic started to recede when Stiles realized it was Derek, and that Derek wasn’t actually applying any pressure. He was propped up on one elbow, hovering over Stiles while looking down at him rather calmly – lazily even.

Stiles swallowed, feeling the weight of Derek’s palm pressing on his Adam’s apple. There was a constant low reverberation coming from Derek’s chest, his eyes heavily lidded, an ease to his features Stiles hadn’t yet witnessed. It was oddly intimate, Stiles realized, once his heart rate started to even out to something of a more reasonable level.

Was this some form of foreplay?

Stiles’ eyes flitted away at the thought, breaking eye contact as he focused on Derek’s neck and upper chest instead. Was Derek actually trying to start this morning’s … territorial ritual … with some sort of respectable decency? Was he actually trying to form some sort of emotional bond, to get Stiles involved and receptive instead of just forcing him into it?

That would be a step in the right direction. It wouldn’t negate or fix their previous experiences, but it would be a start. Derek’s ministrations were actually comforting and didn’t have Stiles’ hackles immediately rising, as was his usual response.

Derek’s hand continued its gentle motions, his thumb rubbing slow, calming circles just under Stiles’ jaw, as if he were rubbing something in …

Groaning, Stiles closed his eyes in hurtful disgust as the headiness of Derek’s ejaculate wafted up to his nose. So, more of a post-coital thing than foreplay then.

Stiles let out a carefully controlled exhale, his breath shaky as he berated himself for his foolishness. He was an _idiot_ to think Derek had changed, to _hope_ he had changed. To hope they could start something different.

His mind immediately played back Derek’s words from the night before, that this … marking … was a form of possession. Derek was merely staking his claim. Nothing more.

Stiles was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t notice the absence of Derek’s hand around his throat, not until he felt a hand swipe across his mouth, smearing Derek’s release across his lips.

Sputtering indignantly, Stiles thrashed his head to the side, his hands that were still wrapped around Derek’s wrist tugging insistently. Derek obliged this time, pulling his hand away but firmly intercepting Stiles’ attempts to wipe the quickly cooling slick from his lips.

“Let it settle,” Derek grumbled, looking over his handy work. Stiles turned back to him, his eyes ablaze with outrage at the indecency, Derek’s contentedness fueling his anger even more. “My uncle is coming to visit you later today. Let’s not give him a reason to suspect anything,” Derek said, as if that would justify his actions.

Stiles bit his lip out of sheer habit, cringing as the salty bitterness of Derek’s release exploded across his tongue. Derek raised a thick brow, something akin to amusement passing across his features before he let Stiles go and got out of bed.

“Deaton will be by later today too to continue your lessons, but not until much later,” Derek said distractedly as he put on his clothes. “I’ll have Isaac bring you breakfast in a while. Try and sleep.”

As Derek made his way to the door, Stiles gripped the blankets tightly in his fists to help reroute his anger. Out of insolent defiance, Stiles wanted to _not_ sleep. He wanted nothing more than to wipe Derek’s release – his _claim –_ off on the blankets, or to get out of bed and wash the mess off of him altogether.

The cold morning air had him hesitating though. The fire had dwindled to nothing during the night, which Stiles hadn’t noticed with a werewolf warming the bed, but now with only the blankets warming him, he could feel the difference. So instead of venturing into the cold, he nestled further into his cocoon, his back facing Derek.

When Stiles finally heard the rattled bang of the door shutting, signalling Derek’s leave, Stiles’ brazen flare of anger diminished to nothing.

It had only been a matter of minutes between when he had been startled awake until now, but as the adrenaline rush receded and the all-too-familiar weight of hurt and despair settled back in, Stiles could feel exhaustion pulling at his eyelids.

The last two nights hadn’t amounted to much sleep at all, and Stiles knew it was taking a toll. He wouldn’t be able to sustain staying awake into the early hours of the morning. He was bound to sleep well soon due to fatigue.

Yet, despite his earlier intentions, somewhere in between his thoughts, Stiles fell back asleep.

 

“It’s interesting,” came a voice, piercing through Stiles’ slumber.

Eyes fluttering, Stiles fought to pull himself from the depths of sleep. He was disoriented, the darkness of the cabin leaving him unsure of the time of day or who was talking to him.

Lifting himself on to one elbow, Stiles looked around the room, startled to find Peter Hale standing at the end of the bed. Scampering to sit up, Stiles pulled the blankets higher around himself, pressing back into the wall at the head of the bed. In Stiles’ painfully obvious state of undress, Peter was entirely way too close for comfort.

“What are you doing in here?” Stiles hissed, glaring at the wolf. As he asked the question however, Derek’s words from earlier that morning came back to him, warning of Peter’s pending visit. “Isn’t it rather early?”

“Nonsense,” Peter admonished, waving a hand through the air. “No better time than the present with the busy day I have ahead,” Peter said, crossing his arms over his chest as a smirk of amusement spread across his features. There was a hint of something predatory to his expression though; something Stiles was coming to realize was a permanent fixture.

“Well could you do me the decency of allowing me to get dressed?” Stiles asked, exasperated. His eyes flew about the room, searching out his clothing. When he spotted them over by the dinner table his shoulders stiffened. This day just kept getting better.

“Absolutely, don’t let me stop you,” Peter replied as his hand gestured towards the table, his eyes raking over Stiles’ blanket-covered form. A wolfish grin split his face. The bastard _knew_ where Stiles’ clothes were and was practically asking for an eyeful.

Stiles looked away, catching his lower lip between his teeth, grimacing as the now dried ejaculate came back to life in his mouth. His cheeks warmed in embarrassment, then anger. No way was he getting dressed in front of Peter. He wasn’t going to play into his hand like that.

“No need to be like that, little Alpha,” Peter chided, coming around to sit on the edge of the bed. Stiles pulled up closer to himself, not trusting the man before him. Seriously, did he not understand personal boundaries? “There’s no need to be modest in front of Uncle Peter.”

Stiles glared hard at the man. It was one thing to subtly hint and be generally creepy, it was quite another to be so direct.

“Does your nephew know you speak so freely?” Stiles asked. He expected not. However Derek had warned Stiles about not giving Peter reason to suspect a hitch in their relationship. So perhaps he expected some form of trouble from his uncle.

“Ah yes.” Peter smiled. “Speaking of my nephew, as I was saying earlier while trying to get your attention …” Peter paused, running his hand over the fur blanket on the bed, getting closer to Stiles with each pass. “It’s interesting,” Peter said, eyes slipping back up to Stiles’.

“What is?” Stiles asked, exasperation edging into his tone. He could recognize that Peter was baiting him, and Stiles was getting sick of his game.

“How I only ever pick up my nephew’s scent from your … activities,” Peter said, his eyes again ogling Stiles’ form. Stiles pulled the blanket tighter to him instinctively. When Peter’s eyes travelled back up, they lingered on Stiles’ neck, then his mouth, making Stiles twitch uncomfortably. He knew perfectly well what Peter was staring at – what he was insinuating.

“What’s the matter?” Peter asked, leaning closer to Stiles, eyes trained on Stiles’ mouth. The shift in weight pulled at Stiles’ hold on the blanket. “Is Derek too much of a man for you? Or is it that he’s too much of an animal?” Peter sneered, his eyes flashing wild blue as his fangs dropped for a beat.

“Get out,” Stiles ground out, tugging at the blanket, trying to displace Peter’s pull.

“Are you too fearful of the predator he is in order to _perform_?” Peter continued, completely ignoring Stiles’ command. “I would be too if I were a measly human. I mean, you think he’s big now, wait until the mating ceremony.”

Stiles watched Peter warily, _knowing_ it was a ploy. Stiles didn’t want to ask, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. What was different about the mating ceremony? Scrunching his nose up in distaste, Stiles choked out a “why?”

“Well, when he’ll claim you in wolf form, of course,” Peter said, winking at Stiles before standing up and moving away from the bed.

Stiles’ mouth fell open, his throat working to swallow nothing as his brain whirled at the meaning of Peter’s words.

“What?” Stiles whispered harshly. He needed to ask, he needed clarification, because surely he was misunderstanding…

“And I mean, wolves claiming humans is always a messy experience, since you don’t heal like we do,” Peter said offhandedly, wandering over to the fireplace. “But I’m sure my nephew will try and restrain himself for you. No one wants to try to tear their mate apart. They’re never quite as good of a fuck if you ruin them so thoroughly,” Peter said, accentuating the k in _fuck_. “It’s not as if your mating ceremony were a Chase, though, then the circumstances would be–”

“A what?” Stiles interrupted, his mind reeling and trying to keep up at the same time.

 _Restrain himself? Tear their mate apart? Ruin them?_ _A Chase?_

“A Chase,” Peter repeated, rounding back towards the bed. “You know, a hunt for humans where we take, claim, breed, or _kill_ as we see fit.” Peter leered as he prowled back towards Stiles. “It’s a seasonal ritual we’ve been performing for centuries.”

Stiles swallowed, jutting his chin out to hide his reaction. He wasn’t going to let Peter intimidate him. He was soon to be leader of the Stilinski Tribe, Alpha Pair to the Hale Pack. He would _not_ shrink away. From Derek? Maybe. From sex? Yeah. From a bully? From Peter? No way.

As much as Stiles didn’t want to believe a word of what Peter was saying, though, the stories from his childhood – the ones about werewolves hunting humans for game – gave him doubt.

“I can smell your fear, you know.” Peter smiled as he again approached the bed, a clawed hand extending above Stiles’ blanket. His intent to pull it away was clear. “I can smell your doubt, and confusion – you warring with yourself.”

Stiles frowned, silently cursing every and all supernatural abilities.

“Not so safe, are you now, little Alpha? So far away from your home, past the boundary of the treaty. The lone human in a pack of wolves.” Peter sneered as his hand descended further down towards the blanket. Stiles pulled the fur even closer, pulling a breath in and preparing to shout for help before Peter paused, his eyes losing focus and his head tilting as if he was listening to something.

When he finally focused back on Stiles, he looked downright pissed. It only lasted for a heartbeat though before Peter was turning away from Stiles completely and making his way back towards the door. Whatever game he’d been playing was now dismissed.

“Derek’s right though, best to keep you locked up in here. It’s safer that way. We wouldn’t want there to be any confusion and for you to be caught during the Chase tonight, now would we?” Peter said over his shoulder, winking crookedly at Stiles before leaving the cabin altogether.

Stiles found himself sitting there, stunned. The stories from his childhood were true. He remembered the tales. He remembered them mentioning hair-raising howls piercing the night air, depictions of claws, teeth, blood and torn flesh. He remembered the feelings he got from those tales. Feelings of fear, of the desperate need to flee. He remembered the feeling of dread, because all the stories all ended the same. The prey’s fruitless attempt to escape would only lead to them being thrown to the ground, teeth embedded deep in their throat as the werewolf would …

Stiles shook his head, clearing his mind.

On top of all that, Derek wasn’t going to just claim Stiles at the mating ceremony in two nights time, he was going to claim him in wolf form.

Stiles needed to talk to Deaton.

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

 

“Not having much luck, I see,” Deaton said, coming into the cabin, jarring Stiles from his thoughts.

After Peter’s visit, Stiles had gotten up and washed quickly before throwing on his clothes and restarting the fire. He hadn’t even touched the breakfast Isaac had brought in, his stomach tied in too many knots to even think about eating. He had been simply sitting in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace for hours, worrying and mulling over his and Peter’s conversation, desperately trying to keep his mind and emotions in check.

“No,” Stiles agreed, sitting up a little straighter, allowing his hand to fall from where it had been worrying at his mouth. His eyes glanced over guiltily at the ash still lying dormant on the rug. “I gave up on it last night after Derek was able to walk right over it.”

“Well, no one ever achieved anything worth achieving without a little persistence, Stiles,” Deaton chided gently, setting down the satchel he had brought with him before sitting in the chair across from Stiles. “Perhaps we should try something different today. Maybe start with something you’re more familiar with, like fire.”

Stiles looked at Deaton for a beat, gnawing on his bottom lip while weighing whether to bring up Peter’s visit. Stiles knew he wouldn’t be able to focus on his lesson properly with so much on his mind. He first needed to learn if there was any truth to what Peter had said.

“What can you tell me about the mating ceremony?” Stiles asked carefully, looking at Deaton out of the corner of his eye.

Deaton looked surprised for a moment before schooling his features.

“What do you want to know?” Deaton asked with equal caution.

“Everything,” Stiles responded, running a hand through his hair. “What can I expect?” If Stiles was going to feel any better about this, he needed to know everything. They needed to start from scratch. “What happens during the ceremony?”

“Well,” Deaton began, tilting his head at Stiles, probably wondering where this was coming from. “The mating pair come together before their pack to seal their bond by mating under the power of a full moon.”

Stiles frowned, running the words through his mind once more.

“What do you mean before their pack?” Stiles asked tentatively, mentally slapping himself on the forehead. He had been so focused on the piece of information regarding Derek being in his wolf form for the ceremony that he hadn’t even thought to expect any other piece of … peculiar … information.

“An integral part of any pack is their cohesiveness, Stiles,” Deaton replied slowly, as if speaking to a child. “Something as significant as a mating ceremony is done with the whole pack present.”

“Oh,” Stiles whispered, blanching at the thought. They were supposed to have intercourse in front of the whole _pack_?!?

“It’s completely natural,” Deaton assured. “You will be there for many mating ceremonies that come after you. They’re a celebrated occasion.”

Right. It was the werewolf equivalent of a wedding. Of course they would celebrate it. So what if it was a little different? It was their culture. Just because it wasn’t what Stiles was used to – or what his people would approve of – that didn’t make it wrong. Just … weird. Creepy and weird.

“Your situation,” Deaton continued, interrupting Stiles’ thought process, “will be a little different, however.” There was a pinched look to Deaton’s face that Stiles didn’t like.

“How so?” Stiles asked.

“When werewolves mate, they do so in their wolf form.”

Stiles allowed his eyes to slip closed in defeat. So it was true.

“It’s their most primal form,” Deaton was quick to explain, “most receptive to the powers of the moon. It’s very rare for a werewolf to claim a human. I’ll be honest, Stiles. There have been cases where the human was injured.”

Stiles exhaled heavily, leaning his head back onto the chair. This all was really getting to be too much.

“But in those cases the wolves weren’t able to control themselves. Derek, especially as Alpha, should be able to exercise control as to not harm you.”

“Should,” Stiles repeated sourly, scrubbing his hand over his face.

“Once the pair has mated and the knot receded, the rest of the pack will welcome you through scent marking,” Deaton said.

“Scent marking?”

Deaton raised an eyebrow at Stiles, looking at him warily.

“Yes, it’s what Derek does to you when he rubs a hand or a cheek against you,” Deaton said slowly. “It appears you two haven’t spoken much about tradition or culture yet.”

“Deaton, we’ve barely spoken at all. Why do you think I’m asking _you_ this?” Stiles’ eyes were wide and imploring. Seriously, why did Deaton sound surprised and dismayed? Didn’t he know Derek, and how impersonal and … _broody_ the man was?

“I know it’s still early on, but you two will have to work on more than just the … sensual … side of your relationship in order to ensure it is strong and healthy,” Deaton said, looking at Stiles firmly.

Stiles shrunk back into his chair, his cheeks warming at Deaton’s words. What sensual side? There was nothing sensual about their relationship for Stiles.

Huffing, Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose, upset and agitated at Deaton’s assumptions, and for getting _lectured_ because of them.

“Stiles?” Deaton asked gently after a moment.

“Hmmm?” Stiles responded, dropping his hand and focusing back on Deaton. Deaton just raised an eyebrow, silently demanding Stiles to talk.

“I believe we’re lacking in the sensual aspect of our relationship, Deaton,” Stiles responded quietly.

“Have you not mated since your wedding night?” Deaton asked, concern crossing his features.

“I don’t think we’ve mated at all,” Stiles stated, sitting up in his seat a little higher while purposefully focusing elsewhere in the room. “Not unless you call him wiping his ejaculate over me intercourse. That’s been the extent of our _sensual_ relationship.”

When Deaton remained silent, Stiles risked a glance at him. Deaton was simply staring at Stiles, a look of mild shock and incomprehension on his face.

“What?” Stiles whispered warily, self-conscious under such scrutiny.

“You haven’t had intercourse yet?” Deaton asked, clearly for clarification.

“Not actual … penetration. No,” Stiles replied.

A knock at the door had the two men turning, their conversation interrupted. Stiles saw the look of aggravation cross Deaton’s features before he turned, though, sparking an unease in Stiles’ gut.

“Deaton, Derek’s called for you. He says it’s important,” Isaac said, poking his head in through the doorway, disappearing again just as quickly.

Without a word, Deaton rose from his chair and gathered his satchel. Stiles got to his feet as well, chest tightening in minor panic. They couldn’t leave the conversation there. There was more Deaton had wanted to say – Stiles knew it – and there was definitely more Stiles needed to ask. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to ask about the Chase yet.

“You’ll be back before tonight, though, right?” Stiles asked, following Deaton to the door. He needed to know if he was in any danger.

“I can’t be sure,” Deaton replied, turning back to address Stiles once he reached the door. His body language made it clear that Stiles wasn’t to follow him any further.

“Please try, there’s more I need to ask you,” Stiles said, “before tonight.”

Deaton’s frown deepened as he regarded Stiles judiciously for a moment. As Stiles opened his mouth to ask about Deaton’s concern, Deaton offered him a tight smile and slipped out the door.

Well, damn.

 

Stiles paced in front of the fireplace, his mind whirling at the possibilities of a Chase, his emotions seemingly turning with each change in his direction. He weaved through them with a graceless fluidity; astonishment yielding to anger, fear to calm resolve, anguish to solace.

Surely the werewolves wouldn’t kill a human, or multiple humans. That was just barbaric. Humans weren’t for hunting. They weren’t game. And if Derek couldn’t see that while being married to one, well, how could they ever successfully integrate pack with tribe?

Wait a minute. If Peter was insinuating that Stiles wasn’t safe outside the boundary of the treaty, that would mean that none of his tribe would be either. So what happened when they integrated? If the tribe was to come up and live with the pack, would they all become susceptible to this Chase?

Stiles stopped pacing, clutching his head in his hands.

Had this all just been an elaborate hoax? Some well thought out trap that the Stilinski Tribe was walking right into? To be _Chased?_ To be wiped out entirely? Or … was the Hale Pack working with the pack from the north? Forcing the hand of the Stilinski Tribe without their knowing? Was Stiles leading his people to slaughter?

_Oh no …_

Stiles leaned on the mantle as he tried to control the panic starting to brew in his chest. He had to find out. He needed to know if there was any truth to this, whether there really was a Chase tonight. Because if there was even a _semblance_ of truth to what Peter had insinuated in a Chase, and his people weren’t safe outside of the boundary of the treaty, merging the pack and tribe would only lead them to their deaths. There was no _way_ Stiles could let that happen.

He needed a plan. Deaton wasn’t returning, wasn’t going to explain this away. It was already well past dinner time, maybe he could wait — no! No, if Stiles was going to learn anything about this Chase, he needed to do it on his own. He needed to get past the guards — but how?

A distraction might work. Trouble was, without knowing them or pack culture, Stiles had no idea what might be effective. But maybe he didn’t need to know. Maybe his human fragility was the only tool Stiles needed.

Squaring his shoulders, Stiles faced the door. He took a couple of calming breaths, steadying his racing heart. He needed to believe what he was saying. If he didn’t, they wouldn’t either.”

When Stiles opened the door, he was surprised to find it was only Isaac standing guard. The blond girl he had seen when he had first arrived was nowhere in sight.

“What are you doing?” Isaac hissed, eyes bugging wide before he moved to try and crowd Stiles back into the cabin. “You can’t be out here.”

Stiles stood his ground though, not letting Isaac push him back past the doorway. He couldn’t let this be over before it begun.

“Isaac,” Stiles moaned weakly, “I’m not feeling well. Could you fetch Deaton for me?” Stiles asked, eyes blatantly pleading. He blindly reached out, trying to grasp Isaac’s arm for support.

Isaac stilled, looking Stiles over while taking a few careful whiffs of the air, probably searching for a sign of sickness.

“I can’t leave my station. It’ll have to wait until Derek gets back.”

Well that wasn’t going to work. Despite his words though, Isaac allowed Stiles to grasp hold of him.

“How long is he going to be?” Stiles whined, wincing. As Isaac stared down at him with suspicion, Stiles curled around an imaginary pain in his stomach.

“I have no idea,” Isaac bristled. “Go lay down until he’s back.” He was now sounding bothered that Stiles was even talking to him.

“Well, could someone else get him?” Stiles tried, leaning more into Isaac for support.

Isaac merely shook his head, eyes still searching Stiles to try and find the source of his distress.

“Everyone’s busy.”

“Doing what?” Stiles croaked out. While this wasn’t going exactly how Stiles had hoped, he was still getting some useful information out of it.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Isaac said, huffing in agitation while again trying to usher Stiles further inside. Stiles started, worried that this was leading to a dead end. He needed to escalate the severity of his little fake illness, and quickly.

“Please, Isaac?” Stiles whispered, swallowing thickly before swaying on the spot. “I don’t feel …” Stiles moaned, allowing his right knee to buckle. Isaac’s reaction was immediate, and exactly what Stiles was hoping for. He swooped in to stop Stiles from falling, throwing Stiles’ right arm over his shoulder and leading him back inside where he carefully deposited him on the bed.

“Please, get Deaton,” Stiles groaned as he rolled onto his side.

“Dammit,” Isaac hissed, his hands ghosting over Stiles’ form, as if he were searching for injury and scared to touch him at the same time. “Okay, just, stay right there and relax. I’ll go get Deaton and Derek.”

With that, Isaac was gone in a flash, the door slamming shut behind him. Stiles sat up swiftly, listening for a beat, straining to hear if Isaac was still outside. When Stiles felt confident Isaac was a good distance away, he silently made his way back to the door before cracking it open and sneaking a peek. There was no sign of Isaac, or anyone else for that matter. It was now or never.

Slipping soundlessly out the door, Stiles paused for a moment, unsure of his next course of action. While he had had a plan, it hadn’t gone beyond getting out of the cabin. Now what? What all was involved in a Chase? Did it start at a specific time? Where was it held?

As Stiles’ mind worked through his options, he slowly became aware of the faint sound of a crowd in the distance. Well, that at least was a starting point.

Course of action decided, Stiles weaved his way through the cabins, sticking tightly to the shadows as he followed the sound. He made a point of memorizing his path. If he could get through this without being detected, he would need to find his way back.

Thankfully the moon was bright that night, as there were no torches to help light the way. Stiles’ route took him further into the community, and with the lack of werewolves around, Isaac had been right. Everyone else was busy.

As Stiles got closer to the source of the noise, he could feel the hair on his arms start to prickle. The intensity of the ruckus had Stiles assuming the whole pack had congregated. There were yips and barks mixed with human cheering and hollering. Whatever they were doing, they sounded excited about it, which just made Stiles stomach clench further with dread. He was desperately hoping their enthusiasm it wasn’t due to what he thought it was.

Slowing his pace, Stiles plastered himself along the side of a cabin as he approached the roar of the group. He knew he was close. The animalistic uproar was so powerful, so concentrated, it was taking everything in him to ignore the instinct to run.

Holding his breath, Stiles peered around the corner, his heart stopping and his stomach dropping out as he took in the scene before him.

There, surrounding a bon fire in the middle of some sort of community circle, were easily fifty to seventy werewolves. Derek was standing in front of the group, most of his back turned towards Stiles. It was what lay before him that gave Stiles pause. There were two human forms, one an older male with silver hair and a bald spot and the other a younger female with long flowing light brown locks.

They were both covered in blood, motionless, _dead_.

Covering his mouth with a trembling hand, Stiles stumbled back a step. He was trying to hold back his shocked horror, desperate not to let a sound escape. He was already risking the wolves picking up on his scent by being so close, he couldn’t risk letting out the tiniest of sounds. They would be sure to pick him out right away, and who knew what that would lead to … would Stiles become an addition to the pile of dead humans?

Focusing back on the rowdy crowd, Stiles wasn’t surprised to find Peter at the forefront. He was hovering over the two dead forms, trapped in some form of vulgar transformation. The distortion of his features was revolting, disturbing and intriguing all at once. As Peter opened his arms over the two corpses, bowing to Derek, the gesture was clear. He was offering them to his Alpha.

“The Argents,” Peter crowed proudly, the words thick around his fangs.

_Argents?_

Allison was an Argent!

Stiles eyes flew back to the fallen girl, breath hitching in alarm.

It couldn’t be!

While he couldn’t see her face, he allowed himself to sag against the cabin in relief. It wasn’t Allison. Allison’s hair was much darker.

But even so, even if this girl hadn’t been one of Stiles’ friends, she was still an Argent. She was still human – had been human.

And she was still dead. Peter had been right …

Retreating back around the corner, Stiles leaned heavily on the solid wood behind him, his breath coming in gasps as he tried to quell the nauseating horror of what he had just witnessed.

The wolves had killed humans. Hunted them down and gutted them just like Peter had said. Who knew what the wolves had done to them before they had even killed them? Those two humans could’ve suffered. The Argents had probably been so scared, and now they lay there as some sort of … ceremonial offering …

To the man Stiles was married to …

Scrambling to his feet, Stiles fled the gathering, tripping over himself twice in his haste to _get away_. He was so distraught that he didn’t even remember rushing back the way he came.

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

Screeching to a halt at the edge of Derek’s cabin, Stiles allowed himself a hitched whimper. With a quick check to ensure Isaac wasn’t back yet, Stiles rested a shaky hand on the corner of the cabin. Taking deep pulls of the cold night air, he tried to catch his breath and calm his heart. He needed to get a hold of himself, and his emotions. He needed to think through this clearly.

Stiles’ mind ran back over what he had seen, desperate to find a flaw in the logic. If Peter had been right about this, was he necessarily right that Stiles wasn’t safe outside the boundary of the treaty? That he was in danger? He was to be mated to the Alpha of the pack, after all. Surely that had to equate to some level of safety.

But if there were a Chase after pack and tribe merged, would the tribe be in danger? Would they become the next victims? His friends and kin laid in front of his husband as an offering?

As Stiles thought, his eyes flickered to the line of the forest. There was only one other cabin sitting between Stiles and the dense tree line.

He needed to go. He needed to talk this through with his dad, to warn him of this Chase. It was so far off from what Stiles had been taught as a child. How could they have gotten it so wrong?

It would be so easy to slip away now. But how far could he really get without the werewolves knowing? Before Derek, with his supernatural speed, could catch up?

Hanging his head slightly, Stiles blew out a breath of frustration. He couldn’t. He couldn’t go back on his dad’s word and bring dishonour to him and the tribe. He had to stay, he had to work this out with Derek on his own … somehow. He just needed to calm down and think this –

A hand clamping firmly over Stiles’ mouth had him hollering in surprise. Immediately twisting, Stiles dropped his weight to try and get away from the grip, but he was grabbed around the chest, held tightly to the body behind him. The supernatural strength of the person holding him was instantly apparent. Stiles was being held effortlessly despite struggling with all his might.

Stiles’ mind immediately jumped to the conclusion of him being mixed up with the Chase. Someone was capturing him to bring him to the gathering. They were going to kill him too!

Stiles screamed, kicking and biting as he tried to get free, his panic increasing tenfold as his assailant started dragging Stiles towards the treeline. Alarm battled with confusion. Why would the person take Stiles _away_ from the gathering? Was this not part of the Chase? What was _happening?!?_

When the pair were well past a dozen steps into the dense forest, Stiles sobbed into the hand that still covered his mouth, the fight starting to leave him. Some semblance of logic passed through his conscious. He knew the best thing to do would be to conserve his energy. Being a weaker species, Stiles was more likely to succeed outsmarting the beast than overpowering it. He needed to be clever about it and bide his time. But in order to do any of that, he needed to calm down first, which he was having a heck of a time doing.

While he had thought being with Derek was horrible and the Chase horrifying, it wasn’t anything compared to the torturous panic of the unknown that was currently threatening to split Stiles’ chest wide open in fear.

Then a distant howl pierced Stiles’ panic stricken haze. It was clearly a call, a call that quickly turned into a roar of rage. The ferocity of it, even being so far away, had the hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck standing on end. It was a sound of warning, of threat, and Stiles knew in every bone in his body that it was coming for them. _Derek_ was coming for them.

The wolf that had Stiles must have come to the same conclusion, because he picked up his speed significantly, not caring as Stiles’ feet were dragged along, bumping and slamming in to branches and stumps as they tore through the forest.

Stiles wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, but one moment he was being brutally hauled through the forest, the sound of something _chasing them_ escalating his terror to unimaginable levels, and the next Stiles and his assailant were being tackled to the ground. There was a mess of arms, legs, dirt and leaves for a couple seconds before Stiles was being pulled away from the altercation.

“Let me go!” Stiles screamed, scrambling back. But the person held firm, pulling Stiles strongly against them as they moved further away from the battle before them. 

Stiles looked up to see who was holding him, ready to start fighting again, but Isaac’s blond hair and glowing gold eyes had Stiles stilling stiffly in his arms.

A quick glance around established that they were not alone. Peter, along with a few other wolves Stiles didn’t know were there as well, some looking wildly at Stiles, and some focused on the fight. Was this a rescue, or part of the Chase?

The gruesome sounds of the fight in front of him quickly drew Stiles’ attention. Derek was there, viciously fighting another wolf, their bodies moving in a blur of claws, fangs, glowing red and electric blue. Stiles couldn’t tell who had the upper hand. They were moving much too quickly for his human eyes to keep track of.

Within only a matter of seconds though, the altercation ended. Derek was left standing over the prone form of Stiles’ assailant, the assailant’s decapitated head hanging from one of Derek’s clawed hands. Blood was smeared and splattered all over Derek’s body, whether it was Derek’s own, or Stiles’ assailant’s, Stiles wasn’t sure. Probably both. But with Derek’s eyes glowing red, chest heaving from the exertion of the fight and fogging in the cold night air, muscles bunching and bulging, his face distorted akin to what Peter had looked like earlier that night, Derek looked everything the monster that had been depicted in Stiles’ childhood stories.

The sight had Stiles trying to fight back bile that threatened to surge up from the gore and overwhelming fear. Stiles breathed deeply through his mouth, not wanting to potentially smell something that would upset his stomach further. He only realized that he was sprawled against Isaac when Isaac helped him sit up a bit, rubbing Stiles’ back soothingly, a high whine emanating from him.

The sound of a thud had Stiles looking back at Derek though, who had now discarded the severed head. Derek’s glowing red eyes were frantically searching the group, finally stilling when they landed on Stiles. Stiles immediately looked away, his lungs paralyzed with fear.

With a grunt, Derek stalked stiffly towards Stiles. His posture still exuded anger and danger, and had Stiles pushing back further into Isaac for safety.

Was Derek going hurt him? Or kill him? Not only had Stiles’ gone against Derek’s order to stay in the cabin, he had been out during a Chase and had been _taken._ What was Derek going to do?

“No!” Stiles cried, holding a trembling hand out in front of him as if it would deter Derek’s approach.

Not surprisingly, Derek ignored Stiles’ plea and grabbed Stiles’ outstretched arm anyway, bending down and hauling Stiles to him. Stiles whimpered, crying out as the rigid manhandling jarred a few aches and pains. His head throbbed in time with his elevated heart-rate.

Derek huffed in agitation, a low, warning growl emanating from his chest as Stiles thrashed and struggled in Derek’s arms. Stiles didn’t care, ignoring Derek’s attempt to quiet him. Reeling back from Derek, Stiles jolted when the coppery scent of blood flooded his nose. It was too much.

Stiles cried out in horror as the blood on Derek started rubbing off onto him, his hands and arms turning slick. Stiles’ breathing turned painful as he struggled to take in more than short, shallow gasps – his lungs locked tight. Derek pinned Stiles to him the best he could while picking him up, turning back towards the Hale community.

Stiles was too hysterical to simply go back to camp. He needed to know what was going on. What happened next? What were they going to _do_ to him?

He was so lost in his terror that Derek’s command of “Get Deaton. He’s hurt,” barely registered. He fought Derek all the way back to the community, his efforts doing nothing more than edge him closer to a delirious panic.   

When they reached their cabin, Derek barged through the door, finally setting Stiles down. As soon as he was free of Derek’s hold, without hesitation, Stiles lunged for his hunting knife that had been sitting idly by the fireplace. Whirling back on Derek, Stiles stumbled, holding the weapon out shakily in front of him before backing into the corner of the cabin closest to his side of the bed.

He blinked furiously as the buzzing in his head intensified, his vision beginning to tunnel.

He was _not_ going to be hunted. He was _not_ going to be taken. He was _not_ going to be punished or become the next offering of the Chase. He was _not_ going to let his people get hurt. He had to warn them. He had to save them!

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

It wasn’t until Stiles realized it was Deaton in front of him, arms cautiously reaching out towards Stiles, mouth moving with silent words that Stiles came back to himself. He could feel tears cooling on his cheeks, his whole body shaking, his nose snotty at the edges.

What was going on?

Looking over Deaton’s shoulder, he made out Derek, looking at Stiles with concern, blood still coating his hands and arms, dots of it splattered up his torso and neck. Isaac, Peter, a blond girl – the other guard he’d seen when he’d originally arrived at the cabin – and a black man were also in the room, watching on with concerned curiosity.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, a sob, suddenly and impermissibly, bursting from his chest. He felt like a fool on display. He could just imagine what he looked like – an enraged, defensive animal backed into a corner. Stiles knew they were just placating him, that he wasn’t any actual threat to the wolves, hunting knife or not.

Sniffling, Stiles jutted out his hand with the knife again. He didn’t care, he didn’t _care_. He just wanted out of this mess. He had just wanted to save his people. He wanted to go _home._

“Everyone out, except Derek,” Deaton said over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving Stiles.

The other wolves looked to Derek for confirmation, who simply nodded his head once.

“Stiles, put down the knife. You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you,” Deaton continued as the wolves filed out of the cabin, shutting the door firmly behind them.

“You don’t know that,” Stiles whispered once they were gone, shaking his head.

“The threat is gone,” Derek supplied quietly, a level of annoyance clear in his tone. Stiles couldn’t tell whether the annoyance was directed at him though. “We don’t know who it was, but it’s dealt with. He’s dead,” Derek stated.

Stiles didn’t care who it was … if the Chase was still happening, he still wasn’t safe.

“Is the Chase over?” Stiles asked, pulling his legs in closer to himself.

“The what?” Derek asked.

“The Chase?” Deaton questioned at the same time, looking over his shoulder to Derek. Derek looked back to Deaton, shaking his head once, confusion pulling his thick brow together.

Why were they both acting confused? Stiles wasn’t stupid, he knew what was going on.

“I saw them!” Stiles hissed. When both Deaton and Derek continued to look confused, Stiles felt his anger and agitation building. “I saw the dead humans Peter was offering to you!” Stiles shouted, pointing the knife at Derek, who was still hovering over Deaton’s shoulder. “Peter told me about the Chase. That you hunt humans – some … ritual – to claim or breed or kill,” Stiles spat out, voice cracking on the word kill, “and that I’m not safe beyond the boundary of the treaty, and he was right! We’re not safe!”

“What?” Deaton asked, inching closer towards Stiles. “Stiles, slow down, you’re not making sense.”

“I’m not?” Stiles shrieked incredulously, waving the knife around. “Ask him! He knows all about it!” Stiles stated hotly, gesturing towards Derek, panting heavily through his emotion.

Deaton again looked over his shoulder towards Derek, who was now turning away and groaning while running a hand through his hair.

“Peter!” Derek growled, his hands clenching into fists.

“Stiles,” Deaton said slowly, calmly, as if gentling a wild animal. “You are perfectly safe here beyond the boundary of the treaty.”

Stiles shook his head, sniffing heavily, about to argue when Deaton continued.

“You were taken by a rogue werewolf. He was not part of this pack. The Hale Pack doesn’t hunt humans,” Deaton supplied, voice firm. His sincerity was befuddling. None of it made any sense. It wasn’t adding up. “There’s no such thing as a Chase,” Deaton said.

“No …” Stiles sputtered, more to himself than directly at Deaton. He rubbed at his forehead with his free hand. What was the angle? There _had_ to be an angle.

“No?” Deaton questioned quietly, inching closer towards Stiles.

“But, then … why was Peter presenting you two dead humans?” Stiles asked, stumbling over his words in confusion.

“What were you doing out of the cabin?” Derek growled, causing Stiles’ head to jerk up. That was besides the point!

“Ah,” Deaton responded, finally nodding while ignoring Derek completely. “I think the problem here is that things may have been provided to you out of context. There is no such thing as a Chase.”

“You’re lying,” Stiles whispered, face crumpling as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. Deaton had been his only true friend throughout this whole thing, the one person he could talk to and rely on. To have him lie felt like the ultimate betrayal.

Stiles whined high in his throat, causing Derek to flinch. They were just trying to appease him, to get him to calm down and be the oblivious lure in the next part of the _Chase_.

“Stiles,” Deaton moaned, hanging his head and exhaling nosily in frustration.

“I don’t know – don’t understand what you’re playing at here, but I won’t lead my people to slaughter! I won’t subject them to this … this … _treachery_!” Stiles shouted.

“That’s enough,” Derek huffed, baring his fangs.

“And you!” Stiles spat, eyes flying from Deaton to Derek. “You may think of me as some degraded piece of property, but I won’t allow for the same – or worse – to fall upon my people. You won’t get your paws near a single _one_ of them – whether to hunt, breed, or kill – if it’s the last thing I do!”

“I said enough!” Derek roared, causing Stiles to shrink back against the wall. His retreat only lasted a second before he was jutting his jaw out defiantly again.

“That’s right, just overpower the situation. That will get you whatever you want!” Stiles hissed.    

“Stiles, just listen for a moment,” Deaton interjected, placing himself in Stiles’ line of sight. It wasn’t before Stiles saw the crestfallen look on Derek’s face, though. “The two humans you saw this evening weren’t part of a hunt. At least, not in the context Peter provided. The two humans were hunted and killed by the Hale Pack, yes, but not for some Chase. It was Peter’s form of retribution. The two humans you saw tonight were responsible for the murder of Derek’s family. His mother, previous Alpha of this pack, his father, two sisters, and aunt – Peter’s wife.”

Stiles frowned, sobering at the news.

_What?!?_

“I never gave the order to kill them. Peter did that on his own,” Derek ground out, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Any evidence of his previous disheartened expression was gone. He stood behind Deaton, and even though he was a ways away, he was still towering over the both of them. With the blood still covering him, and his clear irritation at the situation, it was incredibly intimidating.

“You’re safe here, Stiles. It’s going to be okay,” Deaton said, finally getting close to Stiles. Stiles automatically lowered the knife, then brought it back up half way, suspicion and confusion still whirling in his head. When nothing happened, when all Deaton did was gaze back at him encouragingly, Stiles finally allowed it to fall, his head thudding back against the wall.

He was so confused.

Closing his eyes, Stiles cringed as more tears streamed down his cheeks. He was exhausted, too exhausted to try and put it all together. He didn’t even want to try. He felt void as the fury quickly ebbed out to nothing.

“Derek, have Isaac bring some hot water for a bath,” Deaton said, resting a hand gently on Stiles’ shoulder. “While I tend to Stiles, I’d advise that you go clean yourself up as well. No need to get blood everywhere.”

“Fine,” Derek grit out, turning to leave before pausing and adding, “I’ll deal with Peter.”

Stiles remained sitting in the corner as people fluttered about around him, his mind blank. He was too tired to do anything else besides keep himself upright. Deaton’s gentle hands guiding Stiles up and towards the bath was as much as he was able to register.

Stiles didn’t remember Deaton helping him undress and get into the water. He didn’t remember Deaton bathing him, gentle words trying – and failing – to engage Stiles in conversation. He didn’t remember getting out of the tub either, or Deaton helping him to bed and dressing his injuries. He didn’t remember Derek coming back, petting Stiles’ hair for over half an hour before falling asleep, either.

 

When Stiles woke the next morning, he was surprised to find himself alone in the bed. It was the first time in days he hadn’t been jolted awake. Actually, he felt quite refreshed. The blankets piled over him made him feel safe and warm. The flickering orange glow of the fire on the ceiling only added to the calm feeling.

It took a minute to for the hushed whispers to finally make their way to Stiles’ ears, though.

“You need to fix this situation with Stiles, and you need to fix it now. He doesn’t understand what’s about to happen. He’s hurt, angry, and petrified of you.” It took Stiles a minute to recognize it was Deaton talking.

“What am I supposed to do?” Derek responded incredulously, the words practically hissed.

“Calm him, gentle him, prepare him. He needs an explanation, you owe him that much.”

Derek scoffed, “I don’t owe him anything.”

“You owe him respect!” Deaton bit back.

Stiles swallowed thickly, grateful that he had remained under the covers. As much as he felt uncomfortable overhearing the conversation, he feared he would be more uncomfortable if they found out he was eavesdropping.

There was a silence that went on for a few too many beats, causing Stiles to frown. Did Derek not agree? Well, that wouldn’t be surprising. Nothing of Derek’s previous actions had made Stiles feel respected.

“He won’t even let me touch him. He reeks of fear, misery and despair,” Derek stated, obviously straining to keep his voice down.

“Have you tried? Have you tried to appeal to his human side at all? Or have you just been allowing your wolf to take charge?” Deaton asked expectantly. “Think of what this must be like for him.”

Stiles’ eyebrows shot up, impressed and thankful that Deaton was arguing on Stiles’ behalf.

“He told me you haven’t even had intercourse yet,” Deaton continued when there was no response from Derek. “You need to prepare him, or you’re going to hurt him tonight. Fix it, Derek, and fix it fast,” Deaton said before there was the rustle of movement, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing.

Stiles remained where he was, focusing on keeping his breathing even, unsure who had left the cabin. Maybe they both had. He wasn’t brave enough to look. He just wanted to ignore it, and go back to sleep…  

 

“Come now Stiles, it’s time to prepare,” Deaton said, pulling down some of the covers. Stiles stirred awake, blinking at Deaton in confusion. Prepare for what?

“Prepare?” Stiles croaked, sitting up enough to lean on an elbow as he looked up at the Druid. How long had he slept?

“For the mating ceremony,” Deaton said gently, moving away from the bed.

Stiles sat up even more. Had he slept the whole night and day away? Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Stiles pushed down the wave of trepidation that bubbled high in his gut. So it was truly going to happen. He had been so caught up yesterday in all the confusion of the Chase, the mating ceremony had become a second priority. And while Stiles still wasn’t sure he fully understood what had happened last night, he now needed to switch focus and concentrate on what was to come.

Pushing the blankets aside, Stiles was surprised to find bandages gracing both his legs. Looking up at Deaton in alarm, Stiles opened his mouth to ask what had happened. Deaton beat him to it, though.

“You were pretty scratched up last night. The bandages were to allow the ointment I adhered to settle. Your left ankle seemed to be tender though, so I’ll re-wrap it when you’re done your bath to give you a little extra support. You should try and stay off it for a few days in order to allow it to heal.”

Stiles merely nodded, surprised that he hadn’t remembered Deaton attending to his injuries the previous night.

Once Stiles was settled in the tub, his head leaning back against the edge, Deaton approached, handing Stiles a cloth.

“There are some things we need to go over,” Deaton said as he pulled up one of the chairs.

“Okay,” Stiles said warily, his voice still hoarse from the lack of use. He slowly started the bathing ritual Deaton had showed him just the other night. To Stiles, it now felt like a lifetime ago.

“Tonight, during the ceremony, you’ll be expected to physically and sexually submit to Derek.”

Stiles’ cleaning movements stilled as he processed what that could possibly mean. When Stiles shot a questioning look to Deaton, he further clarified.

“Physically, it could be something as simple and baring your neck, or kneeling to him.”

Stiles nodded, that was straight forward enough.

“Sexually, simply allowing him to take you, claim you, it won’t be enough. You’ll have to offer yourself to him,” Deaton said.

“Offer how?” Stiles asked quietly, timidly.

“Again, it could be taken in different forms. You could undress yourself, present yourself in a certain position, initiate intimacy yourself. That might be a little risky though. It’s always better to allow the wolf to take the lead,” Deaton said, leaning back in his chair.

Stiles nodded, sucking his lips into his mouth to bite on them as his face flushed in embarrassment. At least he had the warm water to blame the flush for this time.

When the bath was done, Deaton re-wrapped Stiles ankle as promised before again presenting Stiles with a cloak. It was much like the one he wore on his wedding night. This time however, it was a wolf fur cloak, dark and heavy and coarse. The extra weight of the cloak had Stiles feeling a little less vulnerable with his nudity.

As Stiles sat on the bed, the cloak wrapped tightly around him, Deaton again made his herbal mixture, giving it to Stiles. Stiles stared at the liquid for a moment, frowning at his hazy reflection in the water before placing the cup next to the bed without even taking a sip.

“You’ll want to drink that,” Deaton suggested, pointing to the cup.

“What for?” Stiles threw out, rubbing his face with his hand. “It’s going to be a miserable experience anyway.”

“I’m sure Derek will try his best to make it as easy for you as he can,” Deaton said, pulling another container out of his satchel.

Stiles snorted.

“Yeah, because he’s been so obliging thus far,” Stiles said, biting his lip while looking at the blankets.

“He may not be the most emotionally open person, but he’s trying in his own ways,” Deaton responded gently, pulling the lid of the container off.

Stiles’ brow pulled together in confusion, trying to think back to actions or things Derek may have done to try and woo Stiles over. He came up empty.

“And how’s that?” Stiles asked, frown still on his face.

“Well, he had a fireplace built for you,” Deaton said, gesturing to the glowing logs, “and a bed made that was similar to your people’s. Wolves don’t need fireplaces, they naturally run warm, and they usually sleep in a nest on the ground, not a raised platform like you’re on. He also had the tub arranged for you. Wolves bath in the river, but that would be much too cold for you. He’s providing for you in ways he knows how, and even stretching to those he doesn’t.”

Stiles swallowed, feeling slightly ungrateful. He hadn’t recognized the things Deaton mentioned, but now he was saying it, it made sense. That still didn’t explain Derek’s actions, and his cold demeanor. It didn’t explain why he merely treated Stiles as something to claim.

“Here,” Deaton said, passing the now open container to Stiles, who eyed it for a moment before relenting and taking it. “I know I said typically wolves don’t like to use oils, but there are few times they’ll make an exception, and tonight is one of them. You’ll want to use this on yourself prior to the ceremony. It will ease Derek’s way when he enters you.”

Stiles sniffed at the container, a sweet scent wafting up to him.

“What is it?”

“Something provided to us from our neighbours to the south. They call it coconut oil.”

“Why are you giving this to me now? What makes tonight an exception?” Stiles asked, dipping the tip of his finger into the oil before bring it out to rub against his thumb.

“In his wolf form, Derek will be bigger than his human form, and that includes his knot.”

The container slipped from Stiles’ grasp, starting to fall before Stiles snapped out of his shocked state and grabbed for it, saving it only inches from the ground. Stiles looked up at Deaton in distress.

Deaton patted Stiles’ shoulder consolingly. 

“It’ll be alright. You’ll see,” Deaton said gently. “Isaac,” Deaton called, not raising his voice, but knowing full well Isaac could still hear him. “Go and get Derek. Tell him to come. It’s time.”

“No,” Stiles whispered, practically whimpering. “Don’t get him yet, I’m not ready.”

“I’m afraid we can’t leave this any longer,” Deaton said, his eyes warm with some sort of emotion Stiles couldn’t identify. “I had assumed that certain things had been set in motion to prepare you for tonight. I should have been paying closer attention. For that, I’m sorry. But you need to be prepared to reduce the chance of injury.”

Stiles looked down at his hands, his fingers idly twisting the container of coconut oil.

It wasn’t long before Derek was walking through the door, leveling a cold look at Deaton.

“If you want,” Deaton started, eyes hesitating for a moment on Derek before he turned to address Stiles, “I could stay and offer some assistance.”

Stiles swallowed, his cheeks burning at the offer. In all honesty, Stiles would probably feel better with Deaton there as a buffer, maybe that was a good –

“We’ll be fine,” Derek growled out, pulling both Deaton and Stiles’ attention to him. Stiles opened his mouth to object, but Deaton simply nodded his head before quickly gathering his belongings.

“Call for me when you’re ready,” Deaton said to Derek before nodding reassuringly at Stiles, then making his way out the door. Stiles couldn’t help but flinch at the bang of the door closing.

With Deaton gone, Stiles and Derek remained stalk still for several moments, Derek looking at Stiles while Stiles looked at the ground. The only sound in the cabin was the crackling of the fireplace and Stiles’ own wild heartbeat. His mind ran back over the events of the last few days. It had all been building up to this – their actual, werewolf mating ceremony.

There would be no going back after tonight.

“We need to prepare you,” Derek finally said, breaking the tense silence. His voice was gentle but still firm.

Stiles’ cheeks burned at the thought. Couldn’t he just prepare himself? If they just showed him what needed to be done, he could do it and skip the embarrassment of it altogether.

Glancing up at Derek warily, Stiles gnawed nervously on his lower lip.

“Is it not something I could do myself?”

“Not effectively, no,” Derek replied, approaching Stiles and slowly plucking the container of oil from Stiles’ hand before kneeling in front of him.

Self-consciously, Stiles pulled the cloak closer to himself, bunching it in his lap. Derek watched his movements, arching an eyebrow. When Derek reached for the cloak – albeit slowly – Stiles made a noise of protest, causing Derek to throw up a hand while huffing out an exasperated breath.

“You’re impossible!” Derek hissed, abandoning the container on the bed and standing back up, pacing in front of Stiles while glaring at him out of the corner of his eye. “You shrink away every time. You’re more timid than a mouse!”

Stiles jutted his chin out defiantly despite his surprise at the change of their regular course. Derek had never backed away before. This was a first.

“Well excuse me if I’m a little leery from our previous experiences!” Stiles said, scooting back further on the bed and fiddling with the cloak in his hands. “You forcing yourself –”

“Don’t make it worse than it was,” Derek growled, interrupting Stiles while continuing his pacing.

“I’m not! I’m stating exactly how it was,” Stiles responded. If he could’ve crossed his arms without risking the cloak from unfurling, he would’ve.

“I was simply doing what needed to be done,” Derek snapped, “unlike some people.”

Stiles reeled back, shocked. The words were equivalent to a physical blow. Was he insinuating that Stiles hadn’t been … what … trying?

“What?” Stiles hissed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that we needed to mate to make our marriage absolute and to throw off potential threats. You were unwilling, so I had to do the next best thing,” Derek said, stopping in his tracks and turning towards Stiles.

“So you thought it best to force yourself on me?” Stiles asked, disbelief and accusation heavy in his tone.

“To protect you!” Derek shouted, pointing at Stiles.

“You mean you!” Stiles spat back, jumping to his feet.

“I mean us!” Derek roared, eyes flashing red.

Stiles flexed his jaw, determined not to back down, even with the terrifying gaze of an Alpha boring into him. They stayed that way for a moment, both breathing heavily from shouting, both standing off and not willing to concede.

Finally Derek huffed, turning to resume his pacing.

“You don’t understand—” Derek started again.

“Because you won’t talk to me!” Stiles interrupted.

“Because you don’t want me!” Derek responded hotly, stopping once more.

Stiles’ face immediately softened in surprise and confusion.

“To. Because you don’t want me _to_ ,” Derek said, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, before starting up his pacing again. Stiles wasn’t sure whether Derek was just feigning a slip up to cover what he actually meant, or if it had actually been an honest mistake.

“Because I don’t want you?” Stiles inquired quietly, trying to uncover the true meaning behind those words.

“You haven’t from day one,” Derek responded just as quietly.

“That’s not-” Stiles started, jerking back in surprise when Derek rounded on him.

“Don’t say it’s not true. I can hear you lie,” Derek said hotly.

Stiles frowned, carefully choosing his next words.

“You never gave me the chance to,” Stiles said, sighing as his slowly lowered himself back onto the bed. When Derek just frowned deeper, if that was even possible, Stiles felt a lot of the fight and anger drain from him. It just took so much energy to keep that all up.

Derek snorted, turning his back completely on Stiles. He didn’t resume his pacing, just stayed turned away, waiting.

“If we could just …” Stiles started, struggling for the right course of action. “I don’t know. Talk? Take this a lot slower. If we just had _time-_ ”

“We don’t have that luxury,” Derek bit back. “As leaders we have obligations. There are high expectations, and if you and I don’t meet them then we’ll pay the price – likely the ultimate price,” Derek said coldly. “You may not want this marriage, or to mate – with a werewolf or man, I can’t tell. It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, we are married, we are to mate, you will have my children, and you’ll make everyone believe that everything is fine. That’s the extent of it. I protect your tribe, and we grow the pack. That was the deal.”

Stiles bit his lip, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He was right. It was that simple. Stiles had an obligation. This … ridiculous expectation … that it could be something more was just making him miserable, and making it harder for both of them.

“You’re right,” Stiles sighed, turning his head to the side, embarrassed to admit it. “That was the deal.” Clutching the cloak tighter in his hand, Stiles straightened his spine. Now was the time to lay it out on the line. “But you have to realize I’m not like you. I can’t smell what you’re feeling, or what kind of person you are,” Stiles said. “So I need to talk in order to get a better feel for this. For you. I need to talk in order to make this work.”

Still silence.

“Then maybe I won’t smell like ‘misery and despair’. Were those the words you used?” Stiles threw out, trying to get some form of reaction.

More silence.

“What does misery smell like, anyway?” Stiles asked, more to himself than Derek now. He nudged his foot on the floor, pushing the dirt with his toe. They were running out of time. And with the continued silence, it didn’t seem like any of this was going to work. They would just be destined to do this the hard way.

“Sour and tart,” came a quiet rumble, so low, Stiles almost missed it.

“Pardon?” Stiles asked at the same time his mind put it together.

“Sour, like the taste of berries that are nowhere near ripe yet,” Derek said, turning his head to talk over his shoulder at Stiles, but refusing to make eye contact.

“And despair?” Stiles questioned, one corner of his lips pulling upward at the minor success.

“Smoke.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose, confused at how those two things could be smelt at the same time. You would think the smoke would overpower everything else.

Derek’s head tilted to the side, as if he was listening to something, before he turned fully to Stiles, a look akin to apology crossing his features.

“We’re running out of time,” Derek said, voice firm.

Stiles immediately felt his heart rate pick back up. No, they needed more time! They were finally talking!

As Derek approached Stiles once more, Stiles leaned backwards on the bed.

“Wait!” Stiles said, thrusting one hand out of the cloak while the other tried to keep it closed, hoping to halt Derek. The look of impatience was back on Derek’s face. “Just, one more question. Then we can …” Stiles said, fading out. “Then I’ll …” 

“What?” Derek asked, the look of impatience melting away to mild curiosity.

Stiles swallowed, averting his eyes as he tried to form the words to address his concern, without sounding stupid.

“Did you want this? Did you want a man as a mate?”

Because arranged marriage aside, their lack of consummation had been weighing heavily on him. If Derek was so against this deal to begin with, Stiles needed to know. He needed to know if Derek was only planning to have sex with him when Stiles had trained enough to have kids.

Derek’s eyes narrowed, his head tilting in question. Stiles couldn’t be sure if Derek was weighing his answer, or was offended that Stiles would even ask such a thing.

Just when Stiles was going to say ‘forget it’, Derek stood tall, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I knew from the moment I saw you, when you were no more than three, that you were my mate. It didn’t matter that you were male,” Derek said solemnly. “I have been waiting years for you. But then, when I became Alpha and needed to produce children, I never thought I could have you. The moment Deaton identified you as a Spark, I knew it had to be you. I couldn’t give you up twice,” Derek said, voice hushed.

Stiles blinked a couple times trying to process Derek’s words, the revelation shocking him into silence. Derek had been waiting for Stiles for … years? As an actual mate? What did that even mean? A part of Stiles warmed from that statement, feeling somewhat validated that Derek had wanted him all this time. But the other part was twisted and confused that Derek had treated him so poorly. If he was Derek’s mate, shouldn’t this have been different?

Stiles rubbed a hand over his face, Derek’s insecurity looping back in his mind. Or maybe, if Derek had thought his mate was rejecting him … he was reacting … what? Defensively? Indifferently? Stiles sighed in frustration. It was no excuse for his earlier actions, but it helped explain things a little more.

“So, you’re not … disgusted by me?” Stiles asked, the question coming out more as a statement.

A look of anger flashed across Derek’s face.

“Disgusted? By my mate? Absolutely not,” Derek replied heatedly, a hand reaching out to squeeze Stiles’ knee.

Stiles looked down at the large hand on him, intrigued by the gesture. This was by far the most they had talked, and it actually resulted in some sort of warm emotion. The proof was there, grasping his knee. Maybe not all was lost after all …

Derek watched Stiles watching him for a moment before slowly kneeling on the bed. Only as Derek reached for Stiles’ chin, tilting it up, was Stiles pulled from his daze. There was a gentleness in his hold that had something in Stiles’ stomach fluttering. It was soft and delicate. Nothing at all what Stiles had come to expect from the Alpha.

“You challenge me, worry me, and infuriate me. But not disgust. Never disgust. I want you. I want to claim you, and this time you need to let me,” Derek said gently, leaning further into Stiles’ space. Stiles’ eyes fluttered up to meet Derek’s. He knew the ceremony was inching closer and closer. So he did the only thing he knew he needed to do. He nodded his consent.

Derek held his gaze for a moment, his eyes searching Stiles’ features, as if he were sure Stiles would take it back. But as the silence stretched on, and Stiles didn’t retract his permission, Derek nodded back as well.

Closing the distance between them, Derek leaned forward, a low rumble emanating from deep in his chest. Stiles’ stomach jumped when he realized Derek was going to kiss him. There had never been anything close to a kiss attempted previously. Was this Derek trying to appeal to Stiles’ human side?

When Derek finally got close enough, he didn’t immediately kiss Stiles. Instead, he rubbed their cheeks together, his beard causing Stiles to wince, before he placed a small, brief kiss to Stiles’ cheek. Then another one just a fraction closer to Stiles’ mouth, then closer, then closer. When their lips finally touched – just a graze really – Stiles exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, butterflies exploding in his stomach.

“Relax,” Derek said quietly before taking Stiles’ lips again, fully this time. The pressure was firm, working with purpose as Derek massaged and nipped along the seam of Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles frowned slightly, eyes closing, confused at the abstract difference in the man before him, and how good the kiss actually felt. With all the hurt and reservations about their marriage, he didn’t expect to have any form of physical or sexual interest, especially after only one talk.

“Relax,” Derek repeated, pulling back slightly, “you’re thinking too much.” Stiles’ eyes blinked open as he felt Derek’s mouth make its way down to his jawline, nudging, nipping and licking gently as he made his way to Stiles’ neck, rubbing his stubble against Stiles’ sensitive skin, creating a burn that actually felt warm, not painful.

While Derek’s ministrations didn’t feel bad, worry, leeriness and discomfort still sat heavily in Stiles’ gut. Derek was making some sort of effort, and Stiles understood a bit more of what was going on. But they had still had a horrible start, and Stiles wasn’t sure if he would be able to get over their previous experiences so easily.

Derek moved, sitting next to Stiles before taking Stiles’ wrist and gently guiding him to straddle Derek’s lap so that they were facing each other. Stiles obliged shakily, unsure of where to put his arms, how to position the cloak, where to hold on, where to look. Derek again caught Stiles’ chin, pulling it up, forcing him to look at Derek.

“Don’t be embarrassed, or afraid. Do what feels natural – what feels good.”

Then Derek kissed him again, this time opening his mouth and licking at Stiles’ lips, causing Stiles to unsteadily part them in answer. Derek’s tongue slowly lapped and worked its way into Stiles’ mouth. It was hot and wet and slick, and it ignited something low in Stiles’ stomach. He could feel his cock twitch in subtle interest as Derek continued to possess his mouth.

Derek’s hands slowly wound their way around Stiles, pulling him even closer as Derek claimed his mouth, one hand hovering up near Stiles’ shoulder blades as the other travelled down to the small of his back. With a nip to Stiles’ bottom lip, Derek thrust his hips upwards as he pushed down on Stiles’ bottom, causing their groins to rub together briefly.

Stiles choked off a gasp, pulling back from the kiss. He could feel Derek’s member beneath him, the friction and new sensations causing his own penis to start to fill and lengthen in interest. Stiles swallowed thickly, unsure of how he felt about that, surprised even that his body reacted so readily.

“That’s it,” Derek encouraged, continuing to thrust his hips up, slower and gentler, keeping a consistent pace as he kept Stiles pressed closely to him.

Stiles let out a shaky breath, limbs trembling as he allowed his head to tip back slightly, Derek’s lips immediately going to Stiles’ neck and sucking fiercely at his pulse point. Stiles mewled, his own hips clumsily jerking against Derek’s, lust warring with his unease.

Derek’s hands moved to the clasp of the wolf fur cloak, deftly unhinging it and letting it fall to the ground. Stiles shivered, shoulders hunching forward in modesty as goose bumps formed along his skin both from the cold air and from being so exposed. He was still self-conscious when naked. This time though, Derek rid himself of his shirt too, pressing their chests closely together, pulling a silent sigh from Stiles as his skin absorbed the heat emanating from Derek.

As Derek’s lips found Stiles’ mouth again, his hands cupped the mounds of Stiles’ butt, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh. Stiles moaned quietly into Derek’s mouth, his hands holding onto Derek’s shoulders tightly, half wanting to push Derek away while half wanting to pull him closer. Derek helped Stiles’ hips find a steady tempo to work in sync with Derek’s thrusting, causing the most erotic friction Stiles had ever felt.

Stiles was so into the moment, previous concerns falling away, that he hadn’t noticed Derek reaching for the oil he’d left on the bed. It was only when Derek pulled Stiles’ cheeks apart that Stiles faltered his tempo.

“Easy now,” Derek hummed softly as a cold, slick finger circled Stiles’ anus.

Stiles stilled, a sick nervousness spiking again in his stomach.

Derek resumed kissing Stiles as his finger continued to delicately circle and massage at Stiles’ entrance. The touch felt weird and uncomfortable, but as Stiles started to focus again on the heat and slick of Derek’s mouth, the nervousness abated slightly.

Derek hummed appreciatively into Stiles’ mouth as his finger finally penetrated the first ring of muscle. Stiles whimpered at the intrusion, pressing his lips firmly against Derek’s, trying to chase away his fear with pleasure. Derek continued to work his finger around, loosening the first ring of muscle as he teased at the inner ring.

As Stiles was fully breached, Derek lunged forward slightly, hungrily claim Stiles’ mouth. The possessiveness of it caused Stiles’ body to clench. It was only as Derek slowed his assault that Stiles realized Derek was now sliding his thick digit in and out of him smoothly, never fully pulling out. The sensation was odd, and Stiles was completely unsure of whether he liked it or not.

With no warning, Derek extracted himself from Stiles completely, standing up while easily lifting Stiles with him. Squawking, Stiles reflexively leapt closer to Derek’s chest, holding tightly to his shoulders. He was carefully deposited back on the bed before Derek quickly kicked off his pants and joined Stiles, hovering over him.

“It’ll be easier this way,” Derek said, guiding Stiles’ trembling thighs apart and positioning himself between them.

Stiles couldn’t help the angry flush of embarrassment that encompassed his whole body. In their earlier sexual activities, he hadn’t really had to face Derek head on. He had resented it at the time. But now he felt beyond exposed, his hand moving to cover his partially excited cock before Derek halted his movements.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I want to see your arousal,” Derek said, pressing Stiles’ hand firmly into the blankets beside his head. If possible, Stiles’ cheeks heated even more. Derek leaned over Stiles’ prone form, his lips again massaging at Stiles’ neck, trying to get Stiles back into the moment.

Stiles bit his lip, trying to smother out his embarrassment. He felt better with Derek over him – not as on display, protected even.

Grabbing another dollop of the oil, Derek repositioned his knees higher on the bed near Stiles’ hips, forcing Stiles’ legs up and back slightly, giving Derek more access to Stiles’ entrance.

Languidly, Derek rubbed the oil into Stiles’ opening, leaning forward to snuffle at Stiles’ throat, taking the delicate skin between his teeth as he reinserted his finger. He thrust his digit in and out a few times before starting to tease at the rim with a second.

Stiles frowned slightly as the second finger entered him. It didn’t hurt exactly, just felt stretched and uncomfortable.

“Don’t focus on it,” Derek murmured, his mouth leaving a wet, hot trail down Stiles’ chest. When he latched on to one of Stiles’ nipples, Stiles clenched around Derek’s fingers and arched his back, gasping at the sensation.

Derek made a rumbling noise deep in his chest as he lapped and suckled at the perky nipple. Stiles groaned. It felt as if there was a straight line from his nipple to his dick, causing the most delicious tug and pull that he had ever felt. He hadn’t ever realized his nipples were that sensitive.

Derek continued to work his fingers in and out of Stiles as he lavished the other nipple with the same attention, pulling the same reaction out of Stiles. With such pleasure pulsing in his chest and cock, the achy sensation of Derek inside of him faded.

Within a matter of minutes, Stiles was subtly writhing, gasps ghosting past his lips. He was so caught up in the excitement coursing through him that when Derek added a third finger, which was much more of a stretch, it had Stiles stilling completely in surprise.

With a groan, Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, his breath coming in pants as he tried to adjust to the intrusion.

“Shhhh.” Derek gentled. “Don’t tense up.”

Stiles brow furrowed further. He didn’t see Derek with anything up _his_ ass. So he wasn’t allowed to talk.

Trying to distract Stiles, Derek continued to coax Stiles’ nipples to attention with licks and gentle blowing before rubbing his stubble against them.

Stiles cried out at the sensation, trying to push Derek’s head away. That was too much.

“Shhhh,” Derek repeated as he went back to licking and gently nipping at Stiles’ nipples. In under a minute, Stiles eased up enough that Derek was able to move his fingers again. They continued that way, Derek distracting Stiles while further preparing him until Derek had apparently decided they had no more time to waste.

Extracting his fingers, Derek reared back slowly before guiding Stiles over so he was on his hands and knees. Nudging Stiles knees further apart so he could position himself between them, Derek ran his hand up and down Stiles’ spine a few times as Stiles peered over his shoulder worriedly.

“Easy now,” Derek said, positioning himself at Stiles’ entrance. When the head of his penis actually slid past the rings of muscle, Stiles groaned, trying to pull away, but Derek held his hips firmly in place.

“Breathe,” Derek coached, remaining completely still.

Stiles whimpered, still attempting to pull his hips away, but he wasn’t going anywhere in Derek’s grasp.

“Don’t fight it, Stiles. Breathe through it, you’ll be okay,” Derek said, giving Stiles time to adjust. Every few moments he would slide another inch in, then another, then another.

“I can’t,” Stiles finally choked out, reaching back to push at Derek. His breathing was coming in wet, shallow gasps as he tried to ride out the pain. Any pleasure he had felt earlier wasn’t even registering.

“Shhhhh, yes you can,” Derek reassured. “You’re a spark, Stiles. You can do anything you want.” There was a reverence to Derek’s tone that had Stiles’ chest warming.

Another inch.

“Nhhhhh,” Stiles panted out, whining high in his throat. “Please, Derek.”

“Almost there,” Derek said, reaching down to wrap an arm around Stiles’ torso, pulling him up and back so that Stiles’ back was resting against Derek’s chest as they knelt on the bed, Stiles’ legs on the outside of Derek’s thick, muscular thighs.

Gravity and the change of angle allowed the last couple inches to slide home, pulling a pained groan from Stiles.

“That’s it. Good boy,” Derek murmured, rubbing his stubbled cheek against Stiles’. The irritation felt so much more intense. It felt like all of Stiles’ nerve endings were on high alert as he struggled to adjust to the length and girth of Derek inside of him.

“Please,” Stiles moaned miserably. He desperately wanted to call a halt to this. They needed more time to prep. Stiles couldn’t even take Derek in his human form. How in the world was he going to take his wolf form? Just thinking of it had Stiles clenching tightly around Derek’s member, pulling hisses out of both of them.

“Just breathe, and relax. You’ll adjust,” Derek said, his hand coming up to grasp Stiles’ throat, tilting Stiles’ head back. Stiles allowed Derek to guide him, letting his head fall back on Derek’s shoulder as he grasped Derek’s wrist. While he didn’t feel directly threatened, he felt more in control with his hand there. It still didn’t deter the whimper that slipped past his lips, though.

“Shhhh,” Derek whispered as he again nuzzled at Stiles’ neck, his other hand starting to wander up Stiles’ thighs and torso.

They were simple caresses, whether to distract Stiles from the pain, or try to get him aroused again, Stiles wasn’t sure. All he knew was that Derek’s big, warm hands were actually soothing him. Whatever the intent, it was working. The angry flare of pain started to slowly subside, and while he wasn’t quite feeling arousal yet, it was something warm. Comforting.

As Stiles started realizing he was actually relaxing back further into Derek’s hold, he felt the older man flex his hips ever so slightly. It wasn’t enough to constitute a thrust, but it was enough to move Derek minutely within Stiles. Stiles swallowed while squeezing his eyes shut, fearful of it hurting again.

But the tiny flexing of Derek’s hips gradually became something more. Somewhere, between Derek’s hot mouth against Stiles’ neck, the rocking of his hips, and his hands roaming over Stiles’ tummy and waist, Stiles realized that they were actually doing it. And … it was actually starting to feel okay. Not great, but okay.

When Derek rumbled deeply in his chest, Stiles could tell it was a positive sound, pulling a bit of a contented sigh from Stiles as well. Stiles kept his eyes closed, allowing his mind to focus on the feeling of what was happening.

When a large, hot hand encircled Stiles penis, he couldn’t control the jerk of his hips forward, pulling him the furthest off of Derek that he had been since Derek entered him. The surprise of it pulled a gasp from them both.

“You like that?” Derek murmured, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Stiles dipped his head, embarrassed by the question. He was still feeling too much for it to be pleasurable. The sensations in his ass coupled with the unfamiliar touch to his penis were overwhelming. Stiles’ reaction had been merely out of surprise, not necessarily enjoyment. But he didn’t want to tell Derek that.

Instead, he reached down, covering Derek’s hand with his own, halting any movement. It would be too embarrassing for Derek to try and arouse him and fail.

“It’s too much,” Stiles whispered, his head lolling against Derek’s shoulder.

“Alright,” Derek murmured, “nice and light,” he said, letting go and petting Stiles’ inner thighs instead as he guided Stiles to move his hips back and forth. When Stiles got a slow rhythm started, Derek’s hand gently encased Stiles’ penis, not grasping it, just ghosting over it so that Stiles was simultaneously fucking into Derek’s lax grip, then fucking himself back onto Derek’s cock.

Stiles panted at the overstimulation and exertion. The dual sensation was setting off explosions behind Stiles’ eyelids, and while Stiles wasn’t hard, he wasn’t soft either.

With a snarl, Derek was leaning forward, forcing Stiles down so that he was back on all fours again, giving Derek more room to take control – which he did quickly.

Derek started a quicker pace, his thrusts true and deep on each stroke, pulling gasps from Stiles each time Derek bottomed out. It was perhaps a little more than Stiles was ready for, but with Derek’s hand still on Stiles’ dick, it was distraction enough. By the sound of things, Derek was quickly approaching his orgasm.

Derek’s thrusting became more erratic, pulling high whines out of Stiles. Just when Stiles thought Derek was going to soar over the edge, Derek grasped Stiles’ hair, pulling his head painfully back and to the side as Derek bit down on the juncture of Stiles’ neck and shoulder, drawing a cry of pained surprise from Stiles.

Suddenly, Derek’s hips stopped and his hold on Stiles loosened as he licked at the bite mark, aggravating the already tender flesh. Stiles squeezed his ass, unsure of whether Derek reached orgasm or whether they were knotted.

Without so much as a word, Derek gently extracted himself from Stiles, pulling a whimper from the younger man. So, not knotted then.

Rearranging them, Derek pulled Stiles down so that they were in their normal spooning position, his hand slipping down between them. As Stiles felt Derek’s dick slip between his cheeks again, his breath hitched in surprise. When Derek breached him, Stiles couldn’t hold back his groan. His entrance felt swollen and sensitive. Instead of thrusting this time though, Derek simply settled himself inside of Stiles and pulled him close.

“You’ll need to save your energy and excitement for tonight,” Derek murmured into Stiles’ hair. “Don’t ejaculate until the ceremony.”

“Hmmm?” Stiles asked, turning his head as much towards Derek as he could. “Did you …?”

“No, not yet,” Derek replied, apparently knowing the question. “I’ll save it for tonight.”

“Why did you bite me?” Stiles asked, pressing a hand to where his neck was smarting.

“Part of my claim,” Derek replied, pulling a blanket up and around them. “I’m serious. The more aroused you are for the ceremony, the easier it’ll be on you.”

Stiles nodded despite knowing it was unlikely to happen.

They stayed that way for a while, Derek’s hot, hard, thick dick settled deeply inside of Stiles as his arm petted idly up and down Stiles’ arm, torso and thighs. Derek murmured quietly through the whole thing, whispering words of encouragement and praise. While at first it was uncomfortable, and his bottom still ached, Stiles had settled into it by the end.

“I have to go get ready,” Derek finally said, pulling himself from Stiles.

Getting off the bed, Derek quickly dressed, making his way around the room in preparation. As Stiles hunkered down further into the covers, trying to ignore the sting in his ass and the faint throb of his cock, his gaze purposefully avoided Derek, which was why he was surprised when a cup was thrust in front of his face.

Stiles’ eyes travelled up the arm to its owner, confusion marring his brow.

“Drink it, it’ll help,” Derek said, handing over the cup that Stiles had earlier ignored. “Deaton will be by shortly to get you,” Derek said, turning to go before hesitating a moment. Looking back to Stiles, Derek frowned before stepping back up to the bed and leaning down to kiss the top of Stiles’ head, his hand brushing gently through Stiles’ hair. After another beat, he made his retreat and left the cabin.

Stiles couldn’t help the smile that tugged as his lips as his heavily hooded eyes gazed at the closed door. The herbal water tasted better than he remembered.

 

It had only been a matter of minutes before Deaton had come for Stiles. Stiles hadn’t even finished the herbal water yet before he had to shrug the wolf fur cloak back on, resetting the clasp.

Numbly, Stiles followed Deaton out of the cabin, his heart beating at the base of his throat. Deaton wordlessly led Stiles down an assortment of paths throughout the community. Instead of leading to gathering circle Stiles had visited the night before, he was actually taken to the west edge of the community where the cabins gave way to a large, treeless field.

Stiles’ eyes flitted around the open meadow, distractedly taking everything in. The full moon, hanging high in the cold night sky, was giving off enough light that Stiles didn’t need werewolf night vision to see.

The pack was a lot bigger than Stiles thought, even bigger than what he remembered from the previous night. There were easily fifty wolves lining the edge of the meadow, creating a circle of protection for their Alpha. They were excited. They were bounding and jockeying around, playful nips and yips piercing the air and setting Stiles’ nerves even more on edge. Their eyes were shifting from their supernatural glow and back again constantly, flickers of amber and the occasional blue lighting the edge of the clearing. If Stiles didn’t focus on it specifically, it looked like twinkling lights surrounding Derek.

Derek was sitting in the middle of the clearing, his eyes glowing a constant red, fully shifted into his wolf form as well. Stiles’ breath caught. He’d forgotten how large Derek was in his wolf form.

“Do you remember what to do?” Deaton asked, pulling Stiles’ attention back to the task at hand.

Stiles nodded, opening his mouth to respond, but his throat was so dry he failed to make a sound, so he simply nodded once more, snapping his jaw shut.

“Good,” Deaton said. “None of the other wolves will bother you. If they did, it would be a challenge to their Alpha, and I don’t think anyone’s silly enough to do so why he’s claiming a mate on a full moon.” Despite keeping his eyes forward, Deaton must have seen Stiles’ questioning look. “An Alpha is naturally more powerful than any one single pack member, more-so on a full moon. But while he claims you tonight, he’ll be bordering on feral. There would be no contest.”

“Feral?” Stiles choked out, taking a step forward and turning towards Deaton.

“You’ll be fine,” Deaton said. His tone wasn’t soothing in any sense. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself rather than Stiles. “Go on, he’s growing impatient,” Deaton said, jerking his chin towards Derek.

Stiles looked over too, and sure enough, Derek was no longer sitting idly in the centre of the clearing. He was now pacing back and forth, his red eyes never leaving Stiles.

“I’ll be by in the morning to check on you,” Deaton said, turning and retreating from the meadow.

And just like that, Stiles was left standing on his own, mouth hanging agape as he watched Deaton’s form disappear into the night.

Oh no. No, no, no. You don’t just drop that on someone and _walk away!_ Nobody had said anything about Derek being _feral._ Okay, maybe Peter had alluded to it, but Stiles had thought it was because Peter was a creeper and was trying to scare him. Those were all just horror stories humans told their children so they wouldn’t break the treaty … right?

A low growl emanating from the clearing had Stiles’ head whipping back around to Derek who was still pacing. He didn’t look particularly feral. But then again, that could probably change pretty quickly.

Besides, feral or not, Stiles had a job to do. This was the last step of the process that would mate them for life.

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._

Squaring his shoulders and pulling the cloak a little closer to him, Stiles stepped further into the meadow, much to the approval of the pack apparently, as the noise they were making increased a few notches.

Fighting back the incessant instinct that was telling him to _run_ , Stiles continued to move slowly into the clearing, keeping his eyes downcast as to not to appear to challenge Derek. _Submit and present yourself_ , Stiles thought, Deaton’s words repeating again and again in his mind. Right, no big deal in front of fifty or more strangers, let alone the man before him who he only started to get to know within the last couple hours.

Once Stiles got to about fifteen feet away from the pacing wolf, he exhaled shakily, trying to steel his nerves for what he was about to do, and what those actions would bring next. It took him a moment of forcing his body to listen to his brain, but eventually Stiles sank, holding the cloak tightly around him as he sat on the grass.

_Submit and present yourself._

Closing his eyes, Stiles sat back, resting his hands behind him on the damp grass. He leaned back on them, allowing the cloak to fall open and to the ground. The chill of the night air stole Stiles’ breath for a moment as he adjusted to the temperature. Shamefully, Stiles spread his trembling legs while tilting his head back and to the side. He squeezed his eyes tight at a particularly loud yip from the crowd. He could only imagine what he looked like laying spread open like that in the field—quivering thighs held open to expose Stiles’ genitals and easy access to his entrance, throat and belly bared in submission.

As a moment passed by though, Stiles still sitting awkwardly alone in the field, he started to worry that maybe he was doing something wrong. He racked his brain. Deaton hadn’t necessarily given him _specifics_ on how to submit and present, just some examples …

Just as Stiles was reaching to pull his cloak back up to cover himself, he felt a snorted exhale fall over his neck while a heavy paw pressed his wrist back to the ground. Eyes flying open, they widened in awe at Derek hovering over him. He was _big._ His head was the size of Stiles’ _chest._

“Oh,” Stiles breathed, feeling his body stiffening as his heart rate started to accelerate.

Immediately, Derek let out a small whine, his tongue darting out and licking up Stiles’ cheek. Even his _tongue_ was huge. Like seriously, one swipe of it easily travelled from Stiles’ chin up to his hairline. It was kind of gross. The only upside was that it was warm. Actually, now that Stiles was thinking about it, with Derek hovering over him like this, he could feel the heat emanating off the wolf.

Looking down, Stiles was surprised how small he looked under Derek. Derek’s paws were resting on the outside of Stiles’ body, boxing Stiles in, providing cover and protection from the elements … or other wolves’ views, potentially. Regardless, much like earlier that night, it made Stiles feel better, not as on display.

One other piece of information was made aware to him after his brief glance down as well. Derek was excited, as in fully aroused, as in his penis was jutting out from its sheath and looking an angry red.

Stiles hadn’t gotten a great view of it, but he knew that it was in proportion to the size of the wolf hovering over him.

Despite what Derek had advised in their cabin when he had been preparing Stiles earlier, Stiles hadn’t been able to maintain any sense of arousal. There was too much of everything else going on. His dick and balls had shrunk and were hiding from fear and the cold, which had Stiles even more scared and worried about how this would turn out. It was a downward spiral, really.

With another snort, Derek was moving down Stiles’ torso, lapping at both of Stiles’ pert nipples half a dozen times each, causing Stiles to flail and yelp before Derek continued lower. When his big head hovered over Stiles’ package, sniffing and simply inspecting it, Stiles couldn’t help the twitching of his legs that wanted to close in defense to the predator above him. Then without any warning, Derek’s large tongue darted out to lap at Stiles’ balls and penis as well, bathing them in warm slobber.

Stiles full on yelped in surprise, sitting up slightly while placing his hands on the wolf’s head, trying to push him away. But just as quickly, Derek had reared up and with a paw to Stiles’ chest, pressed him back into a laying position while resuming his ministrations to Stiles’ package.

Stiles whined high in his throat. Derek’s tongue was surprisingly soft, and while it was warm on impact, once Derek’s saliva cooled, it was downright _cold._ Luckily, Derek’s tongue was big enough that within another swipe or two he was warming the cooling spots again.

Derek continued his assault, moments drifting into minutes. Stiles was losing track of time. His stomach was fluttering with nervousness. His mind flashed back to his and Derek’s previous experiences, to Derek pulling indignantly on Stiles’ cock. His mind was destroying any possible sense of pleasure granted from Derek’s tongue.

“I’m okay,” Stiles whispered, feeling embarrassed at his lack of arousal. He again pushed at Derek’s head, trying to get the wolf’s attention. Derek stopped, looking up to Stiles with red eyes before huffing and nudging Stiles’ hip, easily rolling him over. Stiles yelped when his delicate parts came in contact with the cold, damp grass. Jumping to his hands and knees in shock, Stiles could feel Derek still hovering over him, his cold snout nudging at Stiles’ side.

“What?” Stiles asked blearily, looking back over his shoulder to where Derek was nudging at him. At the same time Stiles understood what Derek was trying to do, he actually succeeded in doing it. He had nudged Stiles’ cloak off to the side of him, baring Stiles’ bottom to Derek.

Stiles whimpered, fisting the grass underneath him as he faced forward again, painfully aware of what came next. Derek moving further over Stiles only confirmed it. Derek’s front paws came just ahead of Stiles’ hands, the curve of Derek’s chest forcing Stiles’ head down slightly. With the size Derek was, Stiles still fit remarkably well underneath him on his hands and knees.

As Derek repositioned himself, something hot and hard poked between Stiles’ thighs, nudging up against his balls.

Stiles whimpered as Derek huffed out, trying to position himself again. This time, Derek pressed Stiles’ upper body further into the dirt, exposing a little more of his bottom. The change in angle allowed Derek’s thick, tapered cock to slide between Stiles’ cheeks and hook onto Stiles’ entrance.

With no other preamble, Derek thrust, piercing through Stiles’ entrance, sheathing himself deep. The action pulled a startled shout from Stiles. Unlike earlier in the evening, Stiles didn’t get any time to adjust. Instantly, Derek was pulling marginally out before thrusting back in again, then again, then again.

Stiles opened his mouth to yell, to scream, to beg Derek to stop, but nothing came out. His lungs were frozen in shock and pain. He couldn’t even pull in a breath for the longest time. He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. Deaton had been right, Derek was bigger as a wolf – a hell of a lot bigger. Stiles wasn’t sure if their earlier prep was helping at _all_. His entrance had already felt sore and swollen, and now? All he could focus on was being split open by the girth and force of the wolf above him.

After a moment, though, Stiles’ body came back online. His instinct of self-preservation kicking in tenfold had him attempting to scramble out from under Derek. With a low warning growl and a firm paw between his shoulder blades, Stiles grunted, only stilling completely when the wolf closed its mouth over the back of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles could feel the pin pricks of Derek’s teeth piercing skin as he continued to thrust while holding Stiles down. Awareness that Derek could tear his head off in one solid chomp had Stiles resubmitting, whining out high and hard as the brutality of Derek’s thrusts continued.

Then, when Stiles thought it would go on forever, Derek’s tempo became jerky and inconsistent, giving Stiles a moment of relief before he felt something starting to catch on his entrance.

“Derek?” Stiles whimpered, grunting as Derek pressed harder and harder against him. With a final thrust, the knot slid in, tears pricking Stiles’ eyes.

“Derek!” Stiles shouted, clambering at the ground, which only pulled painfully on where they were joined, making Stiles still completely. His mouth was open as he panted through the pain, high pitched whines filling the air around them. Whether they were coming from him or Derek, Stiles wasn’t sure.

Derek’s hips rutted against Stiles’, pushing Stiles further and further, and if it wasn’t for the hold Derek still had on him, Stiles was sure they would’ve been half way across the meadow by now.

Growling, Derek let go of his hold on Stiles’ neck only to reposition his mouth over the bite mark he had left earlier in the evening, when he had been human.

As Derek’s hips stilled, minor spasms rocking through him every second or two, he bit down, only enough to re-break the skin, pulling a mewl from Stiles. Derek licked at the wound as his hips twitched. Then, Derek let out a hair raising howl into the night sky, causing Stiles to flinch and hiss at the pull as fifty plus howls answered Derek’s own.

Stiles let out a sob, dropping his head to rest it on his forearm, ass still up in the air and still very much attached to Derek. He could feel the tear tracks down his face cooling in the night air, stinging his cheeks. He could now feel how raw his knees were from being rubbed against the grass. The bite mark Derek had given him, twice now tonight, throbbed painfully. But it was Stiles’ entrance that hurt the worst. He couldn’t even describe it. He felt raw and stretched so wide it was painful. All he wanted was for Derek to pull out, to give him a reprieve. But he knew they were stuck like this for a while.

Every time Derek’s hips twitched, which still happen every minute or so, Stiles moaned in discomfort. There was a pressure in his lower abdomen that was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and Stiles didn’t want to think too closely as to what that pressure was. Derek continued to lick at Stiles’ bite, lapping at it every couple minutes before nuzzling and huffing against Stiles’ neck and ears. At first it was annoying, but as the minutes passed and the pain started fading into a numbness, Stiles couldn’t care less.

Finally, well past the point of Stiles paying attention to time, Derek was able to pull himself from Stiles. Immediately, Stiles sobbed in relief, allowing his hips to pitch to the side and his body fall to the ground. Everything _hurt._ It was all too much, Derek’s fur rubbing against his skin, the cold of the grass, the playful banter of the other wolves still on the outskirts of the meadow. All of it – it was too much.

Stiles curled in on himself. He _never_ wanted to go through that again. He was never letting Derek near his ass again. If he wanted puppies, then they were going to have to find a different way of conceiving because they were not going to have a repeat performance.

Stiles moaned pitifully as he was jostled, strong arms scooping him up, the cloak wrapped firmly back around him. Stiles curled into the heat of a warm chest, frowning at the sensation of floating as his eyelids grew heavy. Stiles blinked a few times, desperately trying to stay awake. There was another part of the ritual, wasn’t there? He had to be accepted by the pack? But before he could even wonder when that was to happen, he allowed himself to rest his eyes for a minute. Only for a minute … then he’d have the energy to greet everyone.

 

 

 

The next time Stiles opened his eyes, he was back in the cabin, in bed. He was only vaguely aware of Derek feeding him, and insisting he drink some tea. He fell back asleep quickly. The next time he woke it was to Deaton, his hand pressed to Stiles’ forehead before he checked over the rest of Stiles’ body, Derek an ever present figure in the background. The next time, more tea, and the pattern repeated itself again and again. Stiles wasn’t sure how long it lasted, his mind was too foggy to comprehend the passing of time.

The first time Stiles was lucid during one of his wakenings, Derek was in bed with him. The fire was crackling, leaving the room warm. Sweltering, actually, with a werewolf pressed against his back.

Derek was clearly asleep. The steady rise and fall of his chest and soft puffs of air ghosting on the back of Stiles’ neck were an easy indicator. He was spooning Stiles again, holding Stiles’ smaller frame gently in his arms.

Stiles was just starting to wonder whether he could slip out of Derek’s hold to go relieve himself without waking the werewolf when Derek stirred, pulling Stiles firmly to him.

“You’re awake,” Derek mumbled, nuzzling behind Stiles’ ear.

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered, suddenly feeling uncomfortable as details from the mating ceremony slowly came back to him; Derek’s breath coming in hot pants against his neck, the pin-pricks of his teeth, the ache from being knotted, the grass burn on Stiles’ knees …

Clearing his throat, Stiles sat up slightly. He didn’t want to think about that now, which was difficult being practically smothered by Derek.

That, and he really did need to pee. Rolling to his side, Stiles hissed as his whole body ached from the minor movement.

Derek sat up too, pulling Stiles closer to him.

“Careful,” Derek said. “Deaton says you’ll be sore for a while. You’ll be fine, just sore.”

Stiles huffed, feeling like that was a major understatement. He didn’t feel fine.

“I need to –” Stiles started, only to be cut off as a howl pierced through the walls. Despite the warm air, the sound of it had chills running over him. Even though he had been in the community for a few days, he couldn’t remember hearing a howl like that outside of Derek rescuing him, and the ceremony last night. It seemed rare, and it sounded haunting. Derek going rigid beside him didn’t make Stiles feel any better.

“What?” Stiles asked, looking to Derek in concern.

Derek’s eyes were fiercely focused on the door though, Stiles’ gaze following suit right as Isaac burst through it. The unexpectedness of it had Stiles jolting.

“The Stilinski Tribe, they’re under attack,” Isaac panted, resting his hands on his knees, his eyes glowing gold.

Stiles stomach dropped, his heart seizing in his chest.

“What!?!” Stiles shrieked, both him and Derek scrambling to get out of bed. Stiles held back the cry of pain that threatened to leave him from the aches that shot up his back, and down his legs.

“They need our help,” Isaac said, straightening back up.

Stiles glanced worriedly at Derek while searching for his clothes. Who was attacking his tribe? Was it the pack from the north? It couldn’t have been. They were still a fortnight travel away … weren’t they? It had to be someone else then?

“Gather as many as you can, we leave immediately,” Derek said, pulling on his clothes.

Stiles was just pulling on his pants when Derek turned to him, brow furrowing.

“You’re staying here,” Derek said, no question to his tone.

“Absolutely not,” Stiles replied, looking for a shirt – any shirt to throw on.

“You’re in no form to fight,” Derek replied, coming around the end of the bed.

“It doesn’t matter, I’m going,” Stiles said, pulling one of Derek’s shirts over his head. He detoured to the mantel, grabbing his hunting knife before making his way to the door. When Derek grabbed Stiles’ arm to halt his progress, Stiles turned on him.

“They’re my people, Derek! I have to go!” Stiles cried, yanking his arm from Derek’s grasp. Something in his eyes must have relayed his conviction, because Derek let out a huff of agitation. Looking to the door, then Stiles, Derek nodded once curtly.

“Fine, but you stay by my side through the whole thing. You’re injured,” Derek said, no room for negotiation.

“Deal,” Stiles agreed, turning and pulling the door open. “We have to hurry.”

It was pouring rain outside, the sun blocked by dense grey cloud. The mud and slick grass would only make their descent down the mountain harder. They’d have to go slower – be more careful. Stiles tried to bite back a roar of agitation. Why today?!?

The rain was cold at first, ice-like pellets hitting Stiles’ skin. His clothes were drenched in less than a minute, offering no aid. But at his body temperature dropped, the cold was less noticeable.

Derek transformed into his wolf form half way through the community, stopping only long enough for Stiles to hoist himself onto his back, knife tucked securely into a sheath at Stiles’ hip. A good number of the pack was with them, also transformed. Derek didn’t waste time waiting for any more. With a quick yip from Derek they all started tearing down the mountainside.

Stiles knew the journey wasn’t a long one, but every moment seemed to take an hour. His adrenaline was so high that he had only had a momentary twinge of discomfort in his backside before his body was completely ignoring it, focusing instead on what was to come. 

The wolves seemed to pick up on the thrum of anxiety emanating from Stiles. Their pace increased despite the mountain passage more treacherous from the rain.   

When they finally – _finally –_ ripped through the treeline into Stiles’ home community, they arrived to the heat of a battle. And on first glance, they weren’t winning.

There was blood – so much blood. Dead bodies were strewn everywhere, both human and werewolf. The mud was tinged red, puddles consisting of blood as opposed to dirt and rain water. Weapons whirled, battle cries and cries of pain tore through the air, interrupted by occasional sobs of grief.

Stiles bit back a sound of horror that threatened to spill, unconsciously grabbing tightly to Derek’s wet scruff. He had never been in a real battle before. Sure, growing up he had trained and strategized, but he’d never … he wasn’t prepared for something like this. He couldn’t believe this was the community he grew up in. Everything was destroyed. Nothing looked like it had.

Panicked, Stiles searched the crowd for his father. He could see Chris and Allison, Scott and Jackson, all still alive and fighting, giving Stiles some semblance of hope. Whittemore hadn’t faired so well. He was fallen and still, face down in the mud.

Derek screeched to a halt, snapping back Stiles’ attention. Stiles’ only choice was to pull harshly at Derek’s coat to stop himself for toppling over Derek’s head.

_He needed to focus, dammit!_

There, not twenty feet in front of them, Stiles’ dad was fighting an Alpha, staff swinging wildly to keep the beast away.

“Dad!” Stiles shouted, scrambling off Derek and falling ungracefully into the mud. His legs gave out due to his weary muscles from the mating ceremony, his injured left ankle, and the slickness of the mud. Stiles struggled to get his footing before rushing towards the pair to help his dad.

Derek was ahead of him, his powerful stride on all fours way faster than Stiles’ two human legs. But just as Derek made to tackle the other Alpha, the Alpha swiped cleanly at the Chief, bringing him to his knees.

“No!” Stiles cried, racing forward. Falling to his knees, Stiles slid along the mud as he reached for his father. He was able to catch him just as he fell backwards.

Stiles’ eyes widened in shock, a whimper sneaking past his lips. Blood quickly spilled out of four major gashes on the Chief’s neck and throat. The Chief’s eyes were glazed over with shock.

“Dad?” Stiles called, pressing firmly against the wounds, trying to stop the blood from escaping.

“Stiles?” the Chief gasped, his pained eyes running over Stiles’ features, as if he couldn’t believe Stiles was there. The look had Stiles’ heart stuttering.

“I’m right here, Dad,” Stiles responded, grunting in frustration as his hands slipped, unable to find purchase enough to stop the bleeding. The rainwater and slickness from the blood was only making it more difficult. 

Stiles looked around desperately. He couldn’t do it on his own. He needed help!

Seeing Scott not too far away, Stiles hollered, trying to get his attention.

“Scott!” Stiles yelled, vocal cords tight with emotion. “Scott, get your mom!” They just needed Melissa. Melissa was their healer. She could fix this, she _had_ to fix this.

“You came back,” the Chief said, pulling Stiles’ attention back to him. Stiles face crumbled, his chest constricting at his father’s words.

“Of course I came back. We came as soon as we heard,” Stiles said, smiling down at his dad as his vision blurred, tears stinging his eyes. “I’m right here.”

“Say … say it,” the Chief said weakly, gurgling around the blood and rainwater in his mouth and throat. His eyes crinkled at the corners in pain.

“No,” Stiles said, shaking his head. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t _say it_ because Stiles knew what that would mean. He knew why his dad would ask him to say it. “No, Dad. C’mon, you’re going to be okay.” Tears spilled down his face next to the tracks of the rainwater, the hot sensation stark against his cold skin. Stiles clutched firmly at his father’s neck, praying for Mel to hurry.

“Say it,” the Chief repeated.

Stiles looked at his dad, eyes widening at the pain etched deep into his father’s features. It was the lack of focus to his eyes and the whiteness of his skin that had Stiles’ breath fluttering, though. Stiles was losing him! He was losing him … and there was only one thing left for Stiles to do to make this easier for his dad.

“The tribe,” Stiles whimpered, his chest constricting with a sob so tightly he had to fight to get a breath – to get the next words out.

“The treaties,” Stiles cried out, slamming his eyes shut, fresh tears racing down his cheeks. He couldn’t do it. This couldn’t be goodbye. It wasn’t his time yet! Wasn’t there something he could do with his spark? What had Deaton said? He needed to will it to happen!

Closing his eyes, Stiles focused deep within himself, _willing_ for his dad to live. He raced through memories of his childhood, clinging to the love and pride and support he always received from his father. He pulled closely his _need_ for his dad. He was the only one Stiles had left.

His thoughts were cut off though as his dad reached up and grasped Stiles’ wrists, his dad’s cold hands squeezing reassuringly.

Stiles’ whole body slumped in defeat. There wasn’t time.

“Everything else,” Stiles whimpered, another sob ripping out of him as he hung his head. Even now, in his last moments, when Stiles should be comforting _him_ , he was still comforting Stiles.

Stiles took a breath, the last words getting caught in his throat. The Chief nodded his encouragement, eyes begging that Stiles finish.

“Then us,” Stiles finally whispered, lifting his head and offering a watery smile for his dad, trying to communicate through his eyes all the love, honour, gratitude and pride Stiles had for him.

The corner of the Chief’s mouth crooked up, his eyes reflecting the same thing back to his son.

“That’s my boy,” he said tightly. His grip on Stiles’ wrists went lax, before falling away completely.

“Dad?” Stiles called, voice bordering on hysteria as his father’s body lost all tension, sinking back further into the mud, staff laying idly by his side. His eyes were unfocused, looking up at the sky just over Stiles’ shoulder. His eyelids were no longer reacting to the drops of rain … his chest, no longer rising or falling.

“Dad!” Stiles screamed, shaking his father’s shoulders. No …. _no!_

When there was no response, Stiles slumped forward, resting his head on his father’s chest, tears running freely down his cheek and over his nose, falling onto his father’s still form. Sobs wracked Stiles’ body as he clung to his father’s shirt, moans escaping with the pain of his loss – the grief too much.

The sounds of the battle faded from Stiles’ awareness. All he could hear was the rain and the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. There was nothing else at that moment, nothing else but Stiles and his dad.

As a form came to kneel across from Stiles, on the other side of his father, Stiles looked up, confused at the stranger smiling before him. The man was older, probably around his father’s age, his hair a light brown without much grey. He had a strong jaw line, more pronounced by his sunken cheeks. He was slender, but still muscular, like a wolf.

When the man flashed his red eyes, Stiles raised his head further jutting out his jaw defiantly.

This was the Alpha that had killed his father.

Face contorting in rage, Stiles lunged for him, flailing when the wolf simply held him back with a hand on Stiles’ chest. When Stiles stuttered with surprise, the Alpha grabbed a handful of Stiles’ shirt, yanking him across his father’s fallen form, the Alpha’s elongated fangs much too close to Stiles’ neck for comfort.

“You’ll all share the same fate,” the man growled with some form of accent. Stiles tried to rear back, but the Alpha’s grip was strong. “I will kill every man, woman and child of your tribe if it’s the last thing I do.”

Stiles frowned as he tried to pull back enough to look at the Alpha.

“Why?” Stiles hissed, voice still tight from his crying.

Before any answer came, the Alpha shoved Stiles away from him, spinning into a defensive crouch right as Derek tackled him to the side. Stiles watched for a moment, feeling detached as he witnessed his husband, his _mate,_ defending him and his tribe. It was a strange sight to behold.

As Stiles’ eyes drifted back to his father, they fell upon the staff, sitting just as lifelessly as its owner. Stiles dipped his head, turning away from it slightly. His heart broke a little more as he realized that it wouldn’t be his father passing it down to him. His father wouldn’t be there for the ceremony where Stiles became Chief. He wouldn’t be there to answer any questions, or guide Stiles through difficult decisions… he was on his own now.

The distant sound of howling pierced through the noise of the battle. Stiles only had to hold his breath for a moment, fearful of whether the howls were bringing friend or foe before he was able to relax. What appeared to be more of the Hale Pack tore into the community.

The fighting lasted for hours … or maybe it was only minutes. Through it all, Stiles sat by his dad’s side, Stiles’ warm hand grasping his father’s now pale, cold one. Stiles wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to lead his people.

The warmth of a hand on his shoulder had Stiles glancing up inattentively. He didn’t care who it was, or what they wanted. Heck, he didn’t even care if it was the Alpha back to kill him. At that moment, Stiles would welcome it. Welcome death. Welcome the opportunity to be back with his father.

The hand on his shoulder had claws, with a strong forearm thick with dark hair. Looking up further, Stiles wasn’t really surprised to find Derek. He was surprised, however, to find pain and despair etched on Derek’s face that matched what Stiles was feeling. Behind him, the Hales wolves were regrouping. They had won.

Sensing his emotions welling again, Stiles broke eye contact, looking back down – not at his father this time, but at the staff. He knew what the next steps were. He knew what needed to be done. He just couldn’t find it in him to get up and do it.

“Take your time,” Derek said quietly, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder. He didn’t move closer, and didn’t pull away. He simply stood there, offering whatever comfort Stiles wanted to take from him.

With a deep breath, Stiles closed his eyes, tilting his head up to the sky, allowing the rain to wash over him.

His mind tortuously replayed the last minutes he had with his father, their mantra a constant echo in his mind.

_The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us._


End file.
